Caught in a Moment
by Lemon Green
Summary: One mistake and you're left picking up the shattered pieces of a solid friendship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm having a bit of writer's block with Through the Endless Night, but I've been working on this story for about as long. I decided to see where I could take it before I posted it. Obviously, I don't own any of the characters, but I would be most appreciative for feedback—comments, criticisms, jokes, bring it all on. Well, here goes.

A/N 2: Okay, so evidently I'm having formatting problems…there were originally page breaks between the two POVs, (someone needs to learn to check her work after she posts it...)so let's try this again. Sorry for any confusion.

-------Calleigh-------

It was all a big mistake, and you aren't sure how or when it was initiated, but you find yourself wishing all of it could be taken back. Especially now, four months later and you're barely talking to each other, you more than he.

So sitting in your living room watching the news, you wonder if it was worth it. Your entire friendship for a night, merely a moment, of giving into feelings that have built up for five years.

You had something good. Sure you flirted occasionally, but neither of you wanted to compromise your friendship and professional relationship for something so transient, but that night was different.

You had something good, and you threw it away.

Even after your relationship with Jake was over, it was evident how much your relationship with Eric had suffered, and you both only hoped a night out could begin to pave the way back to the friendship you once had. So you did dinner and had planned to watch a movie, but that was before you both realized dish soap suds could be sexy.

The first kiss had been innocent enough, a kiss on the cheek followed by suds on the face, and the next thing you know, his face is moving towards yours, and you know his destination, but you don't attempt to stop him. Instead, you lean into him, allowing the kiss to deepen until you're both so far gone you barely remember leaving the trail of clothing from the kitchen to the bedroom. And it's sweet and loving and gentle but hot and almost more than you'd ever expected, and you never imagined you'd find yourself letting go. But there you were, and you no longer had any control of the situation and it could have been the start of something…

Until your common sense—no, your fear—got the better of you.

The week following was somewhat strained, but you fell into a pattern at work, and you were able to be professional and friendly, but as the weeks went on, you found yourself becoming more withdrawn, and you can't bring yourself to admit why.

All you know is that you have to get away from Miami…just for a little while. For once you're going to take the road less traveled and run away, but it's not running away. You're taking some time to get things straightened out, far away from Eric. Too bad you need a passport to go to Canada.

But you make a decision right then, and before you can change your mind, you dial one of many familiar numbers.

You wait as the phone rings, drumming your fingers on the arm of the couch.

"Yes ma'am?" He's fully attentive, and you feel guilty about calling him at home for something like this, but you go for it anyway.

"Horatio, I need to take some time off." It spills out of your mouth, words tripping over each other and you're surprised he understands.

"How much time do you need?"

Pausing to consider this, you would really like a good year away, and you wonder briefly why you don't just transfer.

"How much time can you give me?" your voice is unstable, and if you had known when you opened your mouth that's what would come out, you wouldn't have said anything.

And Horatio is a CSI for a reason. He's careful, but he says, "I'll tell you what, you have a lot of vacation days built up. Why don't you use those and come back when you're ready."

You nod, but Horatio can't see you so you mumble a thank you and end the call so you can make another.

-------Eric-------

You can't help but watch from outside the interrogation room. She's as on the ball as ever, but you can tell she's worn out. From what, you don't know, and you're almost too hurt at being pushed away to even care, but you realize this is Calleigh, and as far as she is concerned, you'll always care.

She's going on vacation—nothing stays secret in the lab—and you're angry, upset, relieved. All at the same time. You know this vacation is one of the many repercussions of _that night_, and you consider barging into the interrogation room and demanding you two take time to talk it over.

The night together was amazing, and you certainly regret taking things so quickly, but more than anything, you regret giving her a chance to retreat. It all seemed unreal, and you've almost come to the point where you wish it was. Almost. That night, you woke up to her fingers tracing patterns on your bare chest, you smile, "Hey, what are you doing?"

She sighs. "Just thinking."

You place your hand over hers, effectively stopping it. "Cal, I know we should have moved slowly, but this is more than just a one-night stand." Your voice is raw and desperate, and you pray that she can hear the sincerity in your voice. She's quiet for a long time, and finally, you lift your head to look at her, and you're surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"Eric," she whispers quietly, hesitantly, and your heart constricts because you can only imagine what's coming. But to your surprise, perhaps relief, she doesn't say anything. Instead, she leans in and kisses you, sweetly, slowly before stopping abruptly, and you can see the fear in her eyes as she pulls away from you.

And despite your quiet protest, she tells you quietly that it would be best if you left, but she's still drawing on your skin, and your brain is on overload trying to process the mixed signals. You know the more honorable path would be to leave, give her some time, but you wonder if perhaps honorable had been tossed aside with your clothing. You roll out of her bed, taking your time to admire her, and you're surprised your voice is shaky as you say, "Just take some time to process this, please."

But time doesn't seem to be on your side because the more time that goes by, the more she withdraws, and you're baffled at this turn of events. So you continue to exist in the same environment, and you wait patiently, hoping that if you stay still enough she'll come out to meet you. But it's tiring, and now that you're sitting outside the investigation room, witnessing the pissing match she's having with a suspect, you can't help but feel your hope waver. Maybe she'll never crawl out. Maybe all you'll have is that small memory of that time together.

But you can always hope.

A sudden movement from the interrogation room interrupts you from your thoughts, and you look up to find that the two are done. Officers are leading the man, now in handcuffs, out, and Calleigh is gathering her things.

You wait for her, and when she finally comes out, nearly bumping into you, you're surprised to see the confusion on her face.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry. "So you're going on a vacation?"

Calleigh looks down at her papers, and you can tell she's trying to distance herself from the conversation. "Yeah, I'm going to visit a friend."

"Calleigh—" but she cuts you off with a hard look. "When will you be back?"

"Soon enough." And she's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: For those of you who have read and/or reviewed, thank you so much. This chapter is a bit choppy, but stick with me. As always, I love to hear from you, so let me know what you think!

-------Eric-------

The tight feeling you seem to have in your stomach when you're near but not near enough eases slightly with a day off, but you return to work and that feeling is replaced completely when you realize that her vacation started today.

Horatio explained that she's using some vacation time, but this isn't Calleigh. She could have an appendectomy and return to work three hours later. She doesn't just leave on a sudden vacation.

And you want to punch Horatio, throw him up against a wall and ask him what he knows, what he's not telling you.

"Eric, step into my office," he says calmly, despite your deadly glare.

You follow him in, fuming silently, and he closes the door. You'd feel more comfortable with it open…more able to control yourself, but you'll have to take what you can get.

"Eric, I'm only going to ask you this once: is this going to become a problem?

You laugh. It's already a big problem, but not in the sense he's asking. "No more than you with my sister." You regret the words as soon as they spill from your mouth, and even though he has every right to deck you right then, he arches an eyebrow, studying you carefully.

But you don't back down. "She is coming back, right?"

"Yes, she is." After a long pause, he says, "Here's what I want you to do, Eric. I want you to take a few days off. Let me worry about everything else right now."

You nod absently and stand. You're halfway out the door before Horatio stops you.

"Eric?"

You don't turn. "Yeah?"

"Everything is going to turn out okay."You were always amazed when he said this to victims. After all, he can't control other people's actions. However, when the comment is directed at you, you find yourself holding onto those words like a life vest in the middle of a turbulent sea.

-------Calleigh-------

Exiting the terminal at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, you feel slightly nauseous, restless, and your ears are plugged, but other than that, a weight seems to have lifted from you and you search the area for the familiar face of your old college roommate.

"Calleigh!" You turn, and in the sea of faces, you find that familiar face and walk quickly towards her.

"Sarah," you can't help but smile at seeing a friend you haven't seen since…well for a long time. "You look great! Where are the kids?"

"Oh goodness, they're at home. I wasn't going to pick you up with kids hanging from me," she explains, pulling you into a hug. "It's so good to see you!" She puts you at arm's length and you shift under her gaze, tugging self-consciously on your sweatshirt pocket. "What's going on?"

You shake your head but decide not to use the patented, "I'm fine." After all, she knows you better than that. "I have to pick up my luggage."

She nods. "Okay, here's what I'm thinking: you've been on a plane for way too long, and my mother-in-law offered to take the kids for the weekend, so we aren't in a big hurry to get back. Care to explore the Twin Cities? Maybe we'll stop for some coffee first; you look dead on your feet."

"Oh thanks," you laugh lightly.

You and Sarah chat idly as you wait for your luggage to appear, and you decide that coming here was a good idea, and you definitely wish you'd done this sooner. Finally retrieving your luggage, you take your bags to Sarah's car, and at her request, you go in search of a nearby Starbucks. It's 3:30, but your brain spins as she rattles off an order you couldn't say if you had a script in front of you.

"I'd just like some tea please."

"You're kidding?" Sarah gives you an incredulous look, and you realize that she would consider this odd behavior for you because you're definitely not one to turn down coffee.

"Just tea please."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Okay, you can have your tea, but you have to promise you're not going to black out on me."

You get your drinks and head out to a nearby park. You're glad you decided on hot tea because the September air is much cooler than you're used to, and it's especially windy as you walk by the lakeshore.

"I don't know how I feel about this weather," you say dipping your teabag as you walk along.

"It's actually really nice today. It only made it to thirty-seven degrees yesterday."

You're baffled. Isn't September supposed to be slightly warmer than the rest of the fall and winter? "Definitely not Miami."

"It's true," Sarah says with a knowing nod. "So…any men in your life?" She never was good at transitions, but being nosy was her thing.

You laugh at her lack of tact. "That was smooth."

"I know." She looks at you expectantly. "So?"

"You know me; I'm married to the crime lab."

She raises an eyebrow. "I never got an invite to the wedding."

"It was quiet," you quip. "So…tell me about the kids. Caleb's got to be getting big now."

Sarah smiles. "Oh they're so excited to have someone spending the night for a while."

You look up surprised. "Oh, no. I can stay at a motel."

"Ummm…no. You're staying with us."

You give her a look.

"Really, Cal. It's no bother. We have an extra bedroom."

"Thank you." It was a completely unnecessary gesture, but you're grateful that you won't have to be alone.

The two of you continue to chat as you wander the many walking and biking paths along the lake, and you're even more grateful for your friend and for the distance you put between yourself and Eric. You find yourself tilting your face to the wind, allowing the cold to whip your hair away from your face, and it's refreshing in a way you never experienced in Miami—not that you'd want to make a permanent move, but it's a nice temporary change.

A couple hours later and you're both hungry, so you decide to stop at a small restaurant located near the park. Slipping into a seat across from your friend, you're struck again with how different you feel out of Miami, but even this thought makes you shift uneasily.

You open your menu and study it, looking for something enticing, but you can't concentrate on your menu.

"I did something stupid," you say suddenly, catching even yourself off guard. You'd definitely planned to leave that in Miami.

"What?" Sarah asks, giving you a bemused smile, and your mind remembers a day many years ago. "Another tattoo?" she asks knowingly.

You laugh in spite of yourself. "Do you remember my friend Eric?"

"He saw the tattoo?" Sarah asks, surprised but completely missing the point.

You shake your head dismissively. "Sarah!"

"Sorry," she's laughing, but she quickly pulls a serious face upon seeing your look. "You mean the guy you work with?"

"Yeah," suddenly you feel defensive, but you quickly realize you don't actually have to say anything. After all, no one's forcing you. However, this was the friend you could go to for anything. So you spill out months, possibly years of information and ambiguity that has led to your great frustration over the years. This helps ease you into the uncommon territory of self-disclosure, and telling someone else feels so good. You tell her about Eric and Horatio going to Rio and the shooting, the overwhelming fear you experienced both times. You tell her about getting back with Jake and the tension in your relationship with Eric, all leading to the night. You'd always been good about bottling emotions, and you're always so surprised at how good it feels to let it out, but this unleashing of emotions leaves you almost empty and slightly baffled.

"And you guys haven't talked about it?"

All you can do is shake your head slowly. You're starting to feel more ridiculous by the minute. "We've—I've—been…" but you don't know how to finish it. You don't want to say that you're running or hiding because it will make you look weak, but that's the truth. You've been running. "I just needed to get away and clear my head," you say finally.

She gives you a slow nod, but the look on her face indicates that she's sure you have more. However, she doesn't say anything.

You follow suit and lapse into your own thoughts, regretting your rash decision to reveal so much information in such a short period of time, and you decide to chalk it up to emotional instability of sorts

Fortunately, the waiter appears shortly, and having not looked at the menu, you order the first thing you see. If there's one thing you've always appreciated about your friend it's that you two can go from moments of deep revelation to light-hearted talking, and that's what you do tonight, and even though you have an hour drive ahead of you, you don't leave until eight,. The ride, however, is relaxing, blanketed in darkness and soft music.

-------Eric-------

In college, spending a weekend with your family definitely wasn't appealing, but now, at thirty-one, you have to admit that those times are precious to you. You look around the living room, drinking your family in: your parents are sitting hand in hand on the couch, telling a funny story about when you and your sisters were little. Sofia is shifting uncomfortably next to her husband, and Ana is laughing, but her attention is focused on your niece and nephews, and you turn your attention there too. Jack and Michael are taking turns rubbing balloons against their sister's head, giggling as her hair stands on end.

"You know, Sofia," you say with a sly smile on your face, "You're going to have to have a little girl. I can tell you that being the only sibling of your gender, dominated by the other is rough stuff."

She gives you a look of mock pity. "Oh, you survived and so will she."

It's true. Caeden is giggling uncontrollably and sticking the balloons to the wall. However, she quickly becomes bored with the game and wanders away from her brothers who decide to use each other as conductors of electricity.

You can tell that Sofia is about to follow the toddler, but you motion for her to stand down, and you follow her into the bathroom where you find her poised over an open toilet, one of your mother's knick knacks in hand.

"What are you doing?" you say suddenly, and she jumps in surprise, looking up at you completely guilty.

"Turtle." She says, showing it to you, and you have to kneel down so you're on the same level, but evidently this isn't a good idea because as soon as you do, you feel two thumps against your back and two sets of arms around your neck.

"Are you gonna play with us?" Jack asks expectantly.

"Yeah, play with us!"

You stand, allowing the boys to dangle from your neck, but before you can answer, Sofia is there. She pulls Michael from your back and gives Jack a look, causing him to release his grip and slide down.

"Wash your hands, we're going to be eating," she tells the boys, and you're surprised when they listen immediately. They never do that for you. "Papi says you get to help him set the table." This comment is directed at you, and you can't help but wonder briefly if you're fourteen again. However, you do as you're told, tugging a strand of Sofia's hair for good measure.

Dinner is, as always, a chaotic affair with various dishes moving around the table faster than some cars, food being shared by all, and rapid conversation in Spanish, Russian, and English. You note that both of your sisters' husbands have gotten used to this as they listen, understanding some Spanish and no Russian.

And when it's all over, you learn that not only did you get to set the table, you've also been given the task of washing dishes after the initial clean up, so while the rest of the family returns to the living room, you stay to wash, and Ana stays to dry.

You watch as the sink fills with sudsy water, and your mind wanders inadvertently to _the night_, but you shake yourself quickly. You can't go there.

"So, baby brother," Ana says in a voice that sounds like she's about to torture you for information. "You know I'm the last person to harp on you, but will we ever get to meet this girl?"

"What girl?" You're honestly baffled. There hasn't been a woman in your life in a while…at least no one serious enough to tell your family about…and you ruined what you can consider your only other chance of a long-term relationship.

"That girl from work. Are you still together?"

How…All you can do is stare at Ana, slack-jawed.

"Natalia, right?"

You let out a breath, and you're surprised at the whoosh of air the escapes you. "Ah, that was a long time ago. It wasn't serious. I told you a long time ago about that."

Ana simply shrugs. "And what, you haven't dated since then? What about that one girl, the blonde?"

You hesitate slightly. "Calleigh?" How does she know about Calleigh?

She looks at you, puzzled. "No…Jo I think it was," she says, but then she has an evil look in her eye and she looks you straight in the face. "Who's Calleigh?" she asks cheekily.

Handing her another dish, you shrug off the question.

"As in Calleigh from work?" she prods. "Mari told me about her," she tells you quietly. At the mention of your other sister, you feel a pang in the pit of your stomach.

"What did she say?" you ask nonchalantly, brushing the uneasy feeling away.

Ana must sense the urgency of your question because she gives you a knowing look and takes her time to respond. "Oh, nothing important," she responds in a singsong voice, similar to how she would tease you when you were younger.

Of course Ana would do this to you. "Nothing important like what?" you ask again.

She smiles. She's got you squirming, and she knows it. "Works with guns, southern, sweet. She said you guys are close."

You nod. You don't know why it matters what Ana knows, but you were nervous she knew something.

"Oh, and she said you were going to marry her."

Your jaw drops. "What?" You try to inject your words with disbelief, but you can't help but think it sounds more like longing than anything. "No she didn't."

"No…she didn't say that," Ana says thoughtfully. "But your reaction did."

Resisting the urge to tell your sister that you have, in fact, completely ruined any relationship you could have had with Calleigh, you finish up the last few dishes and hand them over to be dried.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: **Huge** thanks to Jen (Shopping-Luva91) for beta-ing this chapter (and putting up with my neuroses) Thank you, thank you for your help!!

-------Eric-------

You wake up to an utterly silent apartment with an all-too-familiar tightness in your stomach. This has become routine for you…too routine, and though you hate to admit it, you can pinpoint exactly when you started this routine.

_At her request, you left her bed, her apartment and returned to your own, but when you wake up the next morning, you're surprised at how alone you are. You feel almost physically sick, and there are so many reasons for that feeling that you can't name just one. You turn over and reach for your cell phone, but your hand stops halfway as you realize that you can't call; you have to wait for her._

Sliding out of bed, you pad into the bathroom and turn the shower on full blast. The water is initially cold, and the icy pricks shock your body before the hot water finally kicks in.

_Calleigh never did call, and when you saw her at work the next day, she was friendly but bashful and very professional. You stopped her on her way to her car after work, but she brushed you off saying she needs more time._

_And you gave it to her._

You continue your morning routine, carefully shaving the morning stubble from your face before wiping your face down with a washcloth so you can brush your teeth

_It wasn't entirely Calleigh._

_You worked a case together not long ago. A serial, and before you could get to the bottom of it, the killer brutally murdered seven children. Catching the killer was no respite for the horror scenes you endured leading up to the __capture,__ and at the end of the day, you managed to get yourself into your car, but that was it._

_"Hey," she leaned down, knocking gently on the driver's side window. You roll it down (somewhat unwillingly). _

_"Are you okay?" __she asked quietly, and __you saw the concern written all over her face, but you're too angry to care._

_"I'm fine."_

_"Eric, can we talk?"_

_"Talk?__" you ask, surprisingly calm as bitterness washes over you. "__You're kidding, right? So we can talk when you're ready to talk, but never mind tha__t I wanted to do it weeks ago. __The time for talking is gone." _

_And you rolled up your window and left._

These last three months have served to highlight everything your relationship with Calleigh is not. If you both took time to look back, neither of you would be proud of your behavior. It wasn't just Calleigh; it wasn't just you. As you head out the door, you pull the cell phone out of your pocket and hit the speed dial for Calleigh.

------- Calleigh -------

You wake up to noises in the hallway, and you're baffled that you managed to sleep this late because for the past week, one or both of the kids have come into your room early in the morning. You don't know why, but they're enamored with you. It's already 8:30 and Sarah is getting her kids ready to go to school which means they either didn't come this morning, or you slept through it.

As you get up and make yourself presentable, you remember waking up the first morning.

_"I know you're excited to meet Calleigh, but I swear, if you wake her __up…" __comes__ from the hallway, muffled through the door._

_You swing the bedroom door open to find Sarah and the kids standing in the hallway. Caleb, her eight-year-old, is carefully pealing and eating a banana, and Avery, the five-year-old__ is__ already staring expectantly at you. Upon finally seeing you, she smiles shyly and turns to her mother._

_"Good morning," you say, stifling a yawn. You kneel down so you're close to their heights and introduce yourself._

_"You sound like Hannah Montana," Avery says softly, and you can only offer a small smile as you have no idea who Hannah Montana is._

_But __Caleb steps right up to you and holds__ out a hand. "I'm Caleb. I met you when I was a baby, but I don't remember it."_

_Both kids have Sarah's dark brown, curly hair and hazel eyes, but you can see features of their father too._

_"Well it's nice to meet you again, Caleb," you respond with a laugh_

_Suddenly, the little girl grabs your hand, drawing your attention directly to her. "I just started Kindergarten, but I don't have school on the weekends. You could come see my class."_

_"Perhaps, sweetie."__ And you don't know why, but this makes you feel slightly uncomfortable. It's strange how quickly they've taken to you, and you can't help but think they should find someone else to trust, someone more stable._

This time, as you open the door, you become witness to absolute chaos as they rush to get everything ready so they can sit down for a quick breakfast before they head off to school

"Calleigh!" Avery yells, jumping up and down.

"Hey you."

"Ready for pancakes?" Sarah asks, not even stopping as she lifts the little girl up on her way down the stairs.

Breakfast, as it has been for the last week, is a bigger affair than you're used to, but it's a welcome distraction with Caleb and Avery telling story after story. This morning, however, your head spins as they inhale breakfast and Sarah ushers them out the door.

You finish your own breakfast, and even though you don't have to hurry, you do. You quickly take care of your dishes, pull on a sweatshirt and shoes, and head outside. Despite having no destination, you begin walking, certain you'll be able to make your way back. And if not, you have your cell phone.

They live in a nice neighborhood. Many of the houses are newer, and you realize that this is probably suburbia at its best. The wind picks up, causing the colorful leaves to dance around your feet. It's almost dizzying, so you focus on what's in front of you.

Does wanting to cry make you weak?

There was a time in your life when you wanted it all. You were young, maybe elementary school, maybe middle school, but you were already the mother you rarely had. You had to get up early to get ready so you could get the boys taken care of and off to school. You may have been young, but the weight of your responsibility was always heavy on you, and you wondered if your parents ever felt it. Many things had been decided by then: you would never drink, you'd marry for love rather than convenience, you would be a better parent than either of them, you wouldn't make stupid, rash decisions.

Unfortunately, you are your parents' daughter.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Huge thanks to Jodie/Adorelo for beta-ing this one!! Okay…so I know this is ridiculously short, and for that I'm sorry! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, ridiculous metaphors pertaining to prairie dwelling mammals…whatever! Hope you like it.

------- Calleigh -------

Standing in the grocery store, you watch as the cashier continues to ring up groceries until the price on the screen is more than what you'd spend in a month.

"It gets expensive," Sarah says, noticing the look on your face.

You nod absently, unsure of why such an innocuous activity would cause your stomach to tighten nervously. The tension that had eased when you stepped off the plane had been building slowly, causing you to realize that you wouldn't actually be able to escape as you'd thought.

"You okay?"

When did you become so easy to read? You sigh and the quick air causes a tendril of hair to fly limply from your face. "I'm fine," you say with a reassuring smile.

But oh, what a lie.

As you slide into the van seat, you feel yourself close to your breaking point tears actually coming to your eyes. You swipe furiously at them, trying to regain your composure. Honestly, you didn't come to Minnesota to become a basket case, and you hate that it's happening now.

Sarah slides into the driver's seat and starts up the car, but she doesn't say anything. You remember the first day, the look she gave you that said she thought there was more, and as much as you hate to admit it, her hunch was correct originally just as it is obviously correct now.

What is your problem?

Leaning your head against the headrest, you close your eyes and let out a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you. Who have you become?

_You've always prided yourself in being in control of every aspect of your life—plans, emotions, relationships.__ That night__ with Eric__, you lost control completely, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The days following, you felt guilty, embarrassed…_

_Unfortunately, as the weeks went on, you feel completely out of control. The rational part of you tries to convince you that things are fine, they will be worked out. But you can't shake the feeling. You've begun feeling ill, you're having trouble concentrating, and you probably get a good fifteen hours o__f sleep the whole week. _

Originally, you thought this feeling would ease up, but you soon came to realize that was nothing more than wishful thinking. Now you're close to boiling over, but for once, you decide not to cap it. "I'm losing my fu—my mind," your voice is hoarse.

"Honey, I know you guys were close, but it will take time to repair your relationship. You know that."

"Sarah, I'm just so pissed at myself," you explode, uncharacteristically. "I mean, I've tried so hard to maintain that stability in my life, and in one move…" you've managed to bring yourself close to tears, and you really just want to scream. However you just sit there, fists clenched, jaw tight.

You're on the road now, stopped at a light. Sarah adjusts the volume on the music and turns to face you. You lived with the woman through college, and it's not like you've never seen each other upset, but you can tell she's worried. This behavior is so atypical for you, and you can tell she's struggling to bring everything together.

The light turns and she sighs, returning her eyes to the road. You shut your eyes again, tightly, fuming at yourself.

"Calleigh," she says after a few minutes of silence. You don't respond, so she continues, "Is there more to this?" Again, you don't answer.

_Sitting on the edge of your bed, head in your hands, you allow yourself to lose control completely. __Don'__t__ doctors consider__ two weeks of that depressed feeling __to be__ clinical depression or something?_

_You lie back down o__n your bed, feet hanging over the edge__, and all you can think is, 'It was only once.' _

_That's how you know it'__s not depression. You're a CSI and you pulled the evidence togeth__er__ (and it on__ly took you a whole two months)__ and verified it __scientifically:__the tiredness, nausea and vomiting, the emotional upheaval__. Y__es, those were all__ consequences__ of that night._

_But in a way you definitely __hadn't__ anticipated._

"Calleigh?" Sarah says, and you suddenly realize that the van is now parked in her garage. Slowly, you turn your head, too tired to fully register her wide-eyed, intense gaze, studying you carefully like she's never seen you before.

But you cut to the chase. A whole week…no twelve weeks of dancing around it, and you're done. No more hiding. "I'm pregnant."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I still own nothing--and you can all definitely be thankful for that : ) Thank you to those of you who are actually sticking with me in this story, and especially Jodie for beta-ing it!

------- Calleigh -------

"Pregnant?" Sarah repeats, and you can tell she's vacillating between full-blown comprehension and slight disbelief

It's not a prank at all, and you can't laugh it off because you're still recovering from your outburst. In college, that had been your little joke because you both bottled your emotions. So, whenever one of you would become noticeably upset, you'd jokingly blame it on pregnancy. But this time, she knows you're not joking.

And she has no reason to think so.

You find yourself circling back to anger at yourself. You nod and let a biting "Yup" escape your lips, holding back the profanity that threatens to follow.

Her nod mirrors your own, comprehension quickly lighting her features. You shouldn't be surprised that she believed you so readily. That she was almost expecting that. After all, you realize, you're barely holding it together as it is; after years and years of self-coaching it would have to take something major, like pregnancy or insanity, to crack the walls you'd built.

"Sarah, you know I'm not one to just jump into bed with people," you explain, not sure why you're trying to defend yourself. "And this was definitely _not _supposed to happen," you've resorted to babbling, but it feels good. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for the most exposing words you've said in a long time. "I'm so scared." Fixing your eyes on the wall ahead, you study the contents of the garage shelves carefully.

She doesn't say anything, but you can't imagine how one would follow that up.

"I can't believe I'm acting like this; I'm just…"

"…scared, like you said." Sarah supplies quietly. "Cal, you're independent. Used to having every part of your life, especially your emotions, in control! Suddenly that's all slipping away. Believe me, I know."

Regardless, this is completely unacceptable behavior for you. So you give a noncommittal response and change the subject. "Do you have any other errands to run today?"

She gives you a look indicating she's not ready to drop it. However, she does. "Just some cleaning, but this conversation isn't over sweet cheeks."

------- Calleigh -------

Caleb is sick, and somehow you were roped into giving Avery a bath. Fortunately, she's fairly self-sufficient and only needs help washing her hair, so as soon as that's done, you're able to sit back and watch as she creates a bubble beard for herself.

You never did bring yourself to tell Eric, but it seems that the rules are so much different where he's concerned. Thinking logically, that probably contributed to your alienation, and you've certainly done your best to exacerbate it.

Eventually, Avery commands your attention, and you plaster a smile to your face as you try to listen. You can hear Caleb moaning in the other room, Sarah comforting him, and you wonder about your sanity. A whole list of 'why' questions bombard your brain, causing your head to swirl. Who thought it would be a good idea for you to have a child?

"Calleigh?"

"Yeah?" You look up, immediately chastising yourself for not paying attention to your surroundings. Sarah's husband Brian is in the doorway, having just gotten home from work. His tie is loose around his neck, and he's leaning in the doorway, grinning broadly at his daughter and her beard.

"I can take over."

Even though your brain is screaming for you to retreat, you shake your head. "Go relax, I've got it."

It's getting late, so you get her out of the tub and dried off. She dresses herself in a clean pair of pajamas and allows you to brush her hair. With her teeth brushed and her hair braided back, she snuggles into your bed. "Will you read me a story?" she asks, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

How odd that you can stare down a cold-blooded killer, but this gives you chills. Fortunately, reinforcements arrive before you have to tell her no, so you slip out of the room and head to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sarah and Brian enter the kitchen a few minutes later. Brian heads directly for the refrigerator, but Sara sits down across from you. She looks exhausted.

"How's Caleb?"

"Stuffy, cranky," Sara says with a laugh. "Getting a better idea of what you have to look forward to?"

And you have to roll your eyes and smile because Sarah lives to pry information using hints and loaded questions. Well, at least she gave you a whole day before returning to the subject. Though she never did have patience.

At least she's not trying to set you up with random men in the grocery store anymore.

"So, do you have pictures?" You frown. Were you supposed to take pictures of something? "OB/GYN appointment?" Sarah clarifies.

You're tempted to ask what she's talking about and go back to pretending nothing happened. As Brian slips past the kitchen table into the living room, he shakes his head, allowing you a look of mock sympathy, but you've known him long enough to know that he's just glad not to be on the receiving end of this one.

You answer affirmatively, and retrieve the picture of the ultrasound done at twelve weeks, shortly before your trip to Minnesota. You're not sure why, but you did get some printed pictures of the ultrasound. However, you'd only tucked it into your purse, still trying to wrap your brain around what's happening.

Sarah takes the picture, carefully studying it. "It's weird how real it makes it, huh?" she queries reminiscently, handing the picture back to you. "That is a beautiful baby."

You decide not to remind her that it still looks more like an alien than a baby. "Do you want some tea?" you ask, moving around her kitchen. You've become fairly comfortable with where things are in the kitchen, and you find this very helpful right now when you need something to keep you occupied.

"Want my two cents?" she asks, ignoring your question.

You seriously consider returning the favor, but you stop your searching and look at her. "What?"

"Yeah, it's scary Calleigh, but if there's anyone I'm positive will make a great mom, it's you. I know you're angry with yourself and with the situation, but Cal, you should enjoy this." Pause. "You haven't told Eric yet, huh?"

You shake your head, concentrating way too intensely on making tea.

"Calleigh, I'm not saying it's okay you haven't told Eric yet, but you need to cut yourself some slack. You're human."

You shake your head. "That's not an excuse."

"Honey, people make mistakes, but there's a point where you have to pick up the pieces and move on." She says sternly.

Maybe it was a mistake, but it's still one _you_ shouldn't have made. You decide, however, not to argue this point any further. Instead, you turn on the stove and pull two teabags out of the cupboard.

"How far along are you?" Sarah asks, studying you once again. "Ten weeks?"

"Thirteen." That's three months. According to the doctor, you're one-third of the way done.

And Eric still doesn't know.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just you and my doctor…"

"Calleigh Duquesne," she says, her voice suddenly very firm. "Even if you were scared to tell Eric, you should have told your boss. It's not just your life anymore." She gives you a hard look, and she doesn't have to speak for you to know exactly what she's thinking. If this were someone else and you were in her place, you know you'd be thinking, probably even saying, the exact same thing: Perhaps you're scared right now, but this is so much bigger than you, and you can't get off that easily. For all of your talk about respect and responsibility, you've fallen short.

"I can't believe the mess I've made."

There was a time when you were ten, and you used a word you weren't supposed to, and you knew that immediately after. So you washed your own mouth out with soap, and when you told your dad, he merely said that he knew you'd make better decisions about that and he trusted you. You can't help but feel this is the same thing right now, like the rest of the world is simply willing to overlook the mistake even though you know it's so much bigger than that.

"Don't think about it like that," Sarah says quietly as you hand her a cup of tea. "This is a huge blessing, Calleigh. As scary as it is, think about it like that."

Back in the guest bedroom, after you've finished your nightly ritual of brushing your teeth and washing your face, you slip between two cold sheets, shivering slightly but loving how refreshed it makes you feel. Shortly after you'd returned to the room, you'd taken the ultrasound picture out of your purse and set it on the nightstand, still a bit unsure of it. Now, however, in the dim light of a forty watt bulb, you take time to face what you've been trying so hard to hide from.

You hate to admit it now, but it took you three weeks to even consider taking a pregnancy test. Up until that point, you staunchly denied any possibility that you could be pregnant.

At first it was 'the flu.' But the flu turned into chronic stress-induced stomach problems (never mind that you aren't actually a doctor).

Funnily, chronic stomach problems just wasn't cutting it either. While a little Calleigh in the back of your brain covered her ears and screamed "Lalalalalala!" at the top of her lungs, you forced yourself to pick up a couple kits from the grocery store (just to be sure), trying to ignore that you're about as uncomfortable as the teenage boy who scanned your purchases.

Now you don't remember getting back to your apartment, but you do remember waiting. The waiting was what took forever, and you'd glanced at your watch only to find out that the hour increments you imagined were only about ten seconds long.

Five minutes (or thirty hours…) later, the first test had been positive. But that wasn't acceptable, so you did the second one, and a third one you scarcely remember buying. You'd tried to analyze the different variables as you would for a case; you tried to carefully and methodically test the evidence, but each one gave you the same answer.

Now, holding the little ultrasound picture with both hands, you run your thumb over the flat surface with the three-dimensional image. That day the doctor had gotten a picture of the baby sucking on one thumb, seemingly staring right at you. The other hand was a bit lower, and while you can't see this in the picture, you distinctly remember watching the hand and fingers move, clenching and unclenching.

At the time of the ultrasound, you allowed yourself to feel general appreciation for the miracle of life. Now, you can take some ownership.


	6. Chapter 6

Look, a longer chapter…In case you were wondering, nothing but the mistakes belong to me (though thanks to Jodie/Adorelo, I think I own very little)

-------Eric-------

Resisting the urge to slam your phone against the wall, you carefully close it and set it on the table. It's been days and she hasn't returned a single phone call. You're starting to wonder what's going on. Whatever Horatio knows, he's keeping to himself, and to be completely honest, you could still deck him for that.

"When does Calleigh get back?" Ryan asks from across the table. You give him a look, but despite its threatening nature, he presses on. "It's odd behavior for her, you know."

"Wolfe, if you're so worried, call and ask."

He smirks knowingly. "I would, but it doesn't look like she's answering her phone."

"Very mature," you mutter as you return to your fingerprints.

"What happened between you two?" Now he's looking at you seriously.

"Nothing." That answer is quickly dismissed with a raised eyebrow and a 'hmmm' from Ryan. "We're fine."

"The only time you speak to each other is when you're working."

"Listen," you say impatiently, "No matter what happens between mommy and daddy, we'll always love you." Sure you're mocking him, but the look on his face is well worth it.

"Cute, Delko." For a moment he's looking past you, then he says, "Hey Alexx, come in here."

"You've got to be kidding," you hiss angrily. "What are you, twelve?"

Alexx graces you both with a kind smile as she joins you in the lab. "What's up baby?"

"Calleigh and Eric," Ryan says simply.

Her smile quickly becomes a frown. "Now baby, you know better than to meddle in others' business," she admonishes quietly. "Valera has your DNA results ready. Go get that."

As soon as Ryan is out of the room, all that talk about staying out of others' business is gone too. "Eric, honey, talk to me. What's going on?"

You run your hands through your hair. Being evasive with Ryan is a lot easier than with Alexx. "I don't know what's going on, but it's getting old," you finally admit.

"Is this related to Calleigh's vacation?" she wonders carefully.

"I don't know."

"But there's something wrong?"

"I don't know," you repeat, becoming increasingly more frustrated.

Alexx crosses her arms and leans back slightly, looking you full in the face. "Have you talked to her?"This time, you simply shake your head as Alexx continues to study you thoughtfully. "What happened between you two, baby?"

"Nothing—it's not my place to say," you mutter, and you wonder if you've committed the fingerprint to memory yet. Perhaps you could become a human AFIS.

Unfortunately, the best course of action would have been to say nothing at all, but Alexx doesn't dispute this. She merely gives your arm a comforting squeeze and leaves you to your fingerprints.

------- Calleigh -------

It's already 10:00 and an hour later in Miami. If you don't make the call soon, you'll have to wait another day. But you've finally gathered the courage to take your phone from your pocket and open it…score one for you?

You open your phone only to discover it's off. As you're waiting for it to wake up, your door opens and Avery is flying at your bed.

"Hey, you're supposed to be in bed already," you say, setting your phone on the bedside table, like she would know what you're about to do if you hold onto it.

"Can I see the baby?" she asks, looking sweetly at you, and the look is only enhanced by the wild halo of hair on her head. You're not sure exactly how your little 'secret' came out, but it did, and you've been fielding questions all day.

"What? I showed you the picture already," you say. "Avery, you have to get to bed or you're going to be tired tomorrow."

"No!" she says impatiently. "Can I see the baby in your stomach, not just the picture?"

Your stomach twists uncomfortably and you run your hand over it, realizing that this is going to become a more common occurrence; it just seems so odd. But you lift your shirt, finally exposing your beginning-of-the-second-trimester belly—more noticeable than even a week ago, but still pretty easy to cover up.

"When my aunt had a baby, I got to feel it kick," she explains excitedly. "Can I feel?" But before you can give her an answer, she places her hand on the space just above your belly button, and it's a new kind of strange. You feel a fluttering in your stomach, but you're pretty sure that's nerves

You're surprised your hands are shaking as you take Avery's little hand in your own as you try to explain that the baby is still too small to be kicking around yet.

She looks at you, momentarily, trying to decide if you're telling the truth. Finally, she decides that yes, you are. "Good night. Good night, baby," she says hopping off the bed, but she doesn't make any effort to head back to her own room.

"_Good night_" you say finally.

When she's finally out of the room, you pick up your phone. Looking at it for the first time in a week, you find you've missed seven calls.

And only three are from people who aren't Eric Delko.

-------Eric-------

As you walk along the beach, you feel as though your senses have been heightened. The cool breeze on your skin gives you goose bumps, causing your arm hair to stand up. It's definitely as hot and humid as ever, but the breeze is refreshing, and it does help you to clear your mind…somewhat.

If Calleigh hadn't answered or returned any of your calls by now, she probably wasn't going to any time soon. Pulling your phone out, you consider trying one last time, but even though you've crossed the line to desperate, you decide to try and salvage your dignity. You slip your phone back into your pocket and continue walking along the beach, watching a couple running with their dog. Why they're doing it so late at night, you don't know, but you realize that you shouldn't be out this late either, so you turn and head away from the water, leaving a diagonal path of footprints from the water where most seem to be horizontal.

You're at your car when your phone lets out a ring that shouldn't make you tense up but does. As you fish it out of your pocket, you scan your brain, trying to figure out who would be calling at this time. You have no idea who it could be. One look at the caller ID confirms it, and you suddenly wonder if you want to answer the call.

"Hello?" You don't know whether to acknowledge the caller right away or allow her to announce herself.

"Eric?" she says quietly. Your pulse quickens and your temperature rises. As you lean against your car, you fight to keep a calm neutrality in your voice.

"Aren't you on vacation?" It definitely came out sounding more accusing than you'd intended, but if she heard it, she doesn't let on.

"Yeah. I know this is no excuse, but I just turned my phone on today. Sorry." She sounds genuinely sorry, and based on how well you know her, she sounds more sorry than she probably should be. You dismiss this.

"So how's—" you stop when you realize you have no idea where she is. In the past, she would have told you. Then again, in the past, she wouldn't take a random vacation. "How's your vacation?" you finish lamely.

There's a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'm in Minnesota. I'm visiting a friend from college."

"Oh." You open your car door and slip in, but you say nothing to Calleigh. You'd been so concerned with talking to her you hadn't thought about what you were going to say.

"So…what do you need?" she asks uncomfortably, and you can almost see her idly playing with whatever necklace she's wearing.

"Uh I just wanted to make sure everything was okay," you say, running your hands through your hair. There's a long pause on her end, and you almost wonder if she hung up the phone. "Calleigh?"

"Yeah," she says quickly. "Yeah, everything's fine." But she doesn't elaborate

"When do you get back?"

"Friday." Her answers seem shorter and more clipped than they were when she was in Miami; you can't help but think something's off.

"What's going on?" you ask, trying to be careful.

"Listen, Eric, I have to get going, but I'll be back to work on Monday. See you then."

You consider arguing, forcing her to talk about whatever it is that's bothering her, but you know that isn't going to work. "That's it?" you ask, but you realize you have no right to complain because you aren't saying much either.

"Bye Eric." She says quietly, gently.

"Bye."

------- Calleigh -------

You are the definition of smooth. Really, what were you thinking anyway?

You can't just call him and say, 'hey buddy, I'm pregnant.' So you decided to be completely evasive? Smart. You _should_ have set up a time to get together to talk about…things.

When did you lose your confrontational attitude, anyway? Maybe pregnancy takes away fearlessness. Maybe you could stay in Minnesota and just send him a postcard. Then again, you wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't lost control in the first place. It's up to you to fix it, but you don't know how.

You're exhausted and oh-so-thankful you decided to get ready for bed before making the call. Sure it's a bit early, but Sarah and Brian can go without your company for tonight. You slip under your covers and turn to your side as you hear the wind whistling through the trees, reminding you that your window is, in fact, open. It feels good, almost comforting, to have a cool October breeze. To be completely uninhibited by humidity, and even though you're not a big fan of really cold weather or snow, it's a nice reprieve.

You're certainly glad you took it.

The next morning, you wake up with a feeling you'd liken to a hangover. While you've figured _nothing_ out, you've managed to undo many years of positive self-talk, so you try not to remind yourself that you deserve whatever you've got coming. After all, you need to be more productive than that.

Your stay in Minnesota wasn't supposed to be a real vacation, but somehow Sarah talked you into taking one day (today) to visit the Mall of America (never mind that it's a bit of a drive). You take the hour and a half drive there and hour and a half drive back for a short visit to what is it, the second biggest mall? Well, at least you can say you did something vacation-esque.

The mall is busy for a Thursday, but perhaps it's all of the other tourists. While you know you can find most of the shops in Miami, you can't deny being in an oversized mall with an indoor park is something of a novelty.

Caleb and Avery had a day off from school, so most of your time is spent weaving through ride lines and pulling them away from candy vendors. Your visit ends with a tour of Underwater World, leaving you excited to be heading home soon. You decide the 'ocean world' is only a dim reflection of what Eric must experience, and you make a note to take him up on his offer to take you diving someday.

-------Calleigh-------

"Can't you stay longer?"

Avery is whining from the floor in the hallway as you pack your suitcase, but Caleb has gone for a more direct approach.

"There's so much you haven't seen yet, Calleigh," he reasons. And you have to smile at him because it's true. Sure you got to the mall, but he reasons that Minnesota is about so much more than shopping. You have to laugh. The kid's smart for his age.

"Well it's not like we'll never see each other again," you try to reason. "Besides, I have to go back to work."

"That's not fair!" Avery whines. This is, surprisingly, your first glimpse of a tantrum.

Sarah is sitting on the bed near Caleb, but she's looking down and smiling. She's thrown you to the wolves and left you by yourself. You give her a look, but her response is, "Get used to it, honey."

Later on, you sit on the back porch watching Caleb and Avery play in a pile of colored leaves. They gather the leaves into a pile taller than both of them, and they take turns running and jumping into the center of it, laughing and squealing the whole time. It makes a good picture, so you capture the moment on your camera, smiling children, flying leaves and all.

A/N: I am so sorry…many of you have said you want to see her tell Eric and you want to see his reaction, and it will come to that! Please just stay with me a little longer. In the meantime, I would really, really love to hear your thoughts, critiques, etc. : )


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, so it's confession time: I've had this sitting my possession for the last few weeks…Jodie beta-ed it back in the day, and I dropped the ball (sorry).

-------Calleigh-------

The plane is fairly quiet, but between the uncomfortable seats and your racing thoughts, you see little chance of falling asleep before reaching Miami. However, you're more exhausted than you thought, and you're able to sleep the entire plane ride. You wake up in Miami to find yourself leaning against an old man with a balding head and a sour look on his face.

You mumble an apology, but you only receive a grunt in response, and you're in a haze as you exit the plane and head home, fully intending to sleep until you have to return to work on Monday.

However, when you finally do arrive at home, you realize you can't put off the inevitable any longer, and as hard as you try to unpack slowly, you find yourself rushing. After all, the sooner you get this done…

After a quick shower and a careful clothing selection, you find yourself walking into the Miami-Dade crime lab. You give a brief smile to Paula, but you don't stop to talk. After all, you're in a hurry.

"Calleigh!" You turn quickly to find Ryan stepping out of the trace lab.

"Ryan," you reply faintly.

"Hey, how was your vacation?" he asks enthusiastically.

You force a polite smile. "Ryan, it's good to see you, but I'll have to wait to talk to you later." You're certain you sound slightly hysterical, but you ignore this and give him another small smile.

"Oh—okay," he says, confused. "See you later."

You slip away before anyone else can see you, finally reaching your destination. Through the door you can see him--he's on the phone. You don't know why, but you wait for him to finish the call before knocking softly on the door. Even though you waited for him to finish his call, you don't wait for an invitation. Instead, you push the door open wider and carefully close it behind you.

Taking a deep breath, you try to muster some composure. But it doesn't help because you're shaking almost visibly. You allow yourself to sit on the very edge of the chair, and you're looking straight at him. You don't know if you're surprised or grateful he's waiting patiently to speak, hands folded in front of him.

You take a deep breath. "I need to let you know I'm pregnant." It comes out awkward and ungraceful, and you can't help but wince. That's definitely not the way you imagined this happening…you'd have thought it would be a bit smoother this time around.

His lips part slightly as he studies you with a light frown on his face. "Calleigh?"

You scoot closer to the edge of the chair so that you're teetering precariously both literally and figuratively. Rather than look him directly in the eye, your eyes search out minute details of the room: an ugly green lamp on the table, files of the most recent cases, a cluster of pictures in the windowsill.

"I'm, um, a little over fourteen weeks. I know I should have told you sooner…" your voice fades because you have no idea where to go from there. In fact, you're suddenly wondering why you didn't just keep it to yourself a little bit longer.

"Calleigh," he says calmly, and you wonder how he can be so calm when you feel like the world is going to stop at any moment. He straightens a stack of papers. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

You can't help but feel that Horatio knows more than you told him, but you shake your head. "Not right now. Horatio," you begin desperately because in truth, your only plan had been to let your boss know what was going on. You didn't know what was supposed to happen beyond that.

He gives you an understanding nod and levels you with a piercing gaze. You shift uncomfortably, clearing your throat. "I'm guessing I have desk duty?" even the thought makes you crazy. You don't want to sit around doing paper work for the next six months.

"Calleigh," the tone in his voice rather than actual words compel you to look up. "How are you?"

You laugh. "Not terribly excited about being cooped up…"

He should be standing at a sideways stance, hands on his hips. It's unnerving to have him sitting directly across from you. No…normally it wouldn't be odd, but the situation makes it that way.

"I don't expect you to stay in the lab for the next six months," he tells you quietly, and you can't help but look up, startled. "I'm not sending you into hot crime scenes either, though."

Who do you think you're kidding? Your job is inherently dangerous. Of course you can't go busting into crime scenes and taking suspects down. However, rather than voice this, you nod.

"I'm sorry, Calleigh. You will end up doing more lab work, but as long as you're careful and it's okay with your doctor, you can still be involved in limited fieldwork."

You nod again, slowly.

He's studying you carefully. "Calleigh, how _are_ you?" Horatio repeats.

In truth, you feel ridiculous, like a big joke. "I'm fine. I have an appointment in two weeks, so I'll talk to the doctor about what my limits are, and I'll let you know. Until then, I can stay in the lab if you prefer." Professionalism is all you can muster right now as you carefully put as many ducks in a row as possible.

He nods. "I think that's a good idea. I don't want you to worry about any of this though. " He gives you a comforting smile as you nod and stand. "Calleigh?"

You turn to look at him. His eyes hold compassion you've seen before when he dealt with victims in the crimes. Seeing it right now is almost unnerving, so you turn away once more.

"I'm here if you need anything." Leave it to Horatio Caine—up until this moment, you felt like a high school student telling her father about her pregnancy and waiting for the worst. Now there's a quiet comfort in his voice, and even though part of you feels it rubbing you the wrong way, like he's patronizing you. But you still feel comforted in a way you can't explain.

"Thank you, I'll see you on Monday." Normally, you would probably sit and chat for a little while, but for the moment, you just need to get out of the crime lab before you get yourself into more trouble.

-------Eric-------

You've been looking at this clothing for what seems like hours, and you're not getting anywhere. Yes, it is covered in blood, but you're not finding much else. At this point, you'd go for a fiber or a cat hair…really, though, what you'd like is a piece of paper with a signed confession.

"Hey, you catch a break yet?" Natalia asks coming up beside you to study the evidence.

You chuckle slightly and set the clothing down. "I'm about to have a _psychotic_ break," you mutter.

The Colton case seemed open and shut at the time. The team found the body of Julie Colton, her husband beside her, holding a gun, to his own head. Horatio talked him down, and he eventually handed over the gun crying 'I killed my wife.' Now, after lawyering up, you and the rest of the team have spent hours beyond scheduled time trying to unravel the knot.

"So nothing? I ran the substance on the vic's body; it's homemade soap. I don't see how it's going to help us, but I'm grasping at straws.

You nod, studying the trace results Natalia hands you, suddenly feeling very tired. "Maybe H has an idea. I'm all out," you mutter finally.

"Maybe ballistics has something," Natalia says, her tone off in some way you can't pinpoint. Finally, she just looks you straight in the eyes. "She's back," she says finally, like you're the densest person on earth.

But oh no, you definitely know she's back. In fact, she came in at exactly 7:23 just as you were about to begin examining the shirt. Thus far, she's only left the ballistics lab twice, and both times, she had a set destination.

You knew on Friday that she was back in Miami and it took all of your willpower not to go to her house and force her to talk to you. Needless to say, it was a long two days.

You shrug noncommittally.

"Something's changed," she says thoughtfully.

"What?"

"With Calleigh. Something's changed, but I can't pinpoint it."

"Why don't you just ask her?" you ask, irritated. Does she not realize she's slowly unraveling all of your resolve?

Natalia just shrugs. "Okay, well if you get anything from-"

"Hey Natalia," Calleigh says striding into the room. She flashes Natalia a friendly smile. You however get a disconnected smile, like the one she uses to emotionally distance herself from a suspect or case. You shrug mentally and return to the clothing. "Horatio said you'd bring me up to speed on the case."

"Sure, how was your vacation?"

You don't even have to look to hear the wide smile Calleigh must be wearing. "It was great. I needed some time."

"Where did you go?"

"Visited an old college roommate."

You can't concentrate. Not at all. Even as you stand there staring down at the clothing, every other sense is focused completely on Calleigh, and this irritates you. You clear your throat and look up, eyebrows raised. Calleigh catches your eye briefly, slightly bewildered.

"Oh! Sorry," Natalia says quickly, then turning to Calleigh she says, "Eric's become our resident workaholic these last two weeks."

You don't get to see Calleigh's reaction because Natalia takes her arm, pulling her out of the room and leaving you alone with your stupid bloody clothes.

Throughout the day, you catch glimpses of her, but they're always quick and followed by a long look at your feet. Again you're struck with one thought: how did it come to this? .

Certainly she had her demons, you both did. Suddenly, all you know is that you and Calleigh can't be over. Why? Because you know about Calleigh's fear of ants, her dad, her emotions.

You. Know. Calleigh.

Perhaps you're being ridiculous, but you aren't going to go there right now. Riding the coattails of irrationality, you consider driving to her house (again with the intent of talking things out with her, making everything better) but quickly think better of it and steer your car towards your own place.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: It's a long-ish chapter (yay me!). Thanks to those of you who have reviewed; it means a lot to me! As always, I own nothing, and all of my non-errors belong to Adorelo.

-------Calleigh-------

You cap the camera and seal the last envelope. There isn't a lot of ballistics evidence, but it has taken you forever to gather it.

"You about done?" you ask, your eyes searching out Eric in the opposite corner of the room.

"Yeah. Hey, I think you missed a bullet."

Frowning slightly, you consider the implications of this statement. Of course you didn't miss a bullet. "No, I collected them all. Four casings, three bullets."

"Oh…" he's hesitant, but he doesn't say anything else. Rather than continue to talk across the room, you set down your kit and take the few strides it requires for you to reach Eric on the opposite side. He's kneeling on one knee, carefully studying a patch of carpet. As you kneel down beside him, you're surprised to find another bullet.

"Why didn't you just have me come over to measure and photo it?" you ask, more irritably than you'd intended.

Eric looks at you bewildered. "Cal, that was already here."

"No, I already collected a bullet from over here, and I'm certain I'd remember if there was another one…" You're wracking your brain, trying to figure out where this other bullet came from. So you move back across the room to grab the evidence you collected.

But you only have four casings and two bullets, so you dig through your kit, searching for that last bullet. Strangely, you find yourself becoming more panicked. Your first time outside of the lab all week and you lose a bullet.

"I can't find the third bullet," you tell Eric desperately. "I put it in here and I just—" you stop, taking a deep calming breath. Of all the things you could get upset about, it's not going to be a bullet.

He gives you a curious look, as though trying to decipher your behavior. Finally, he shrugs. "Maybe you just forgot to bag it."

You're only slightly ashamed of the scornful look you give him. "I didn't forget to bag anything." You tell him snappishly.

However, the evidence from your kit says otherwise. You're missing a bullet along with one of your scales. Frustrated, you snap on another pair of gloves and bring your kit and camera to collect the bullet.

You finish gathering this rogue piece of evidence, flip your kit shut, and head out to the hummer without saying anything to Eric. The anger and humiliation of missing evidence seems to cause a buzz in your ears.

Tossing your kit in the back seat, you lean against the door to wait for Eric (after all, there's no reason to sit in a hot stuffy car). How could you have missed a piece of evidence like that? For all you know, that could be a crucial piece of evidence for your case, and you completely overlooked it. You--.

"Is everything okay?" You jump slightly; you definitely hadn't noticed Eric come up beside you. Allowing yourself a quick (very quick) glance at him, you see concern written all over his face, and it irritates you.

"I'm fine, just tired." You respond, not even attempting a fake smile. "Let's just get this back to the lab.

You shift nervously under his penetrating gaze, but he finally nods and migrates to the driver's side of the hummer.

-------Eric-----

"Can you _not_ do that?" Calleigh asks irritably.

You frown, completely baffled, but she can't see you. You're standing behind her and just off to the side, waiting for her to test fire the gun you recently acquired. "I'm sorry?" you say finally.

She closes her eyes—you know this not because you can see her face but because of the tone of her voice, the patient, straining-to-maintain-control voice—and shifts her bodyweight. "Eric…" She's silent for a long time, weighing her possibilities then finally says, "Why don't I page you when I'm done?"

This whole time, she doesn't turn once. The gun she's about to fire is on the table before her, her hands crossed over her chest. Briefly, you wonder if she's joking; after all, she's never had a problem sharing her lab.

Finally, she turns around, taking a step back so you're not so close. "I just need to concentrate right now," she explains looking slightly apologetic.

"Uh…sure…" You back up further and pull your earmuffs off. "Let me know when you're done," you murmur.

As requested, you leave the lab, but once you're out the door you turn around and watch her through the window as she turns back to the gun. For a long time, she seems to be studying it intently. She brings her hand to the gun, fingers sliding from barrel to handle. Finally loading the clip, she prepares to fire.

There's work you could be doing, but instead, you consider the woman in the next room. No matter how many times you think it or how many ways you say it, the fact that you two have been drifting apart in the past few months is evident.

Maybe you shouldn't be surprised that she's pushing you out of the ballistics lab. After all, you feel like she's tried to put distance between the two of you (both physically and emotionally) for the past few months.

No, that's not entirely true. There were times, anomalies as of late, where you two shared what could only be considered a moment; those moments had given you hope.

Those moments made moments like this even more difficult.

Like a good boy, you wait for her page as you attempt to work on analyzing other aspects of the case. However, your mind isn't on it, and only when your pager goes off do you find yourself truly alert.

When you return to ballistics, she's sitting at the table, her face pressed against a microscope. Even though you don't know what compels you to do so, you knock, causing her to swivel in her seat.

This time, she gives you a genuine smile. "Hey, come in," she says in the quiet voice you're convinced she only uses with you.

"How's it coming?" you ask as you stride into the lab.

"No match," she says, pulling off her gloves. "Look, I'm sorry…"

"Cal." her name leaves your mouth as a whisper. Your fingers are itching to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, but you resist. "Are you--is everything okay?" you finally manage to spit out. You've been asking that a lot lately, and you're surprised she hasn't tried to take you down. However, you'll continue to ask until she tells you what's wrong (or kills you.)

Calleigh's eyes meet yours briefly, just long enough for you to see something you can't quite identify, and she doesn't answer. Instead, she picks up the file and holds it out to you. You can't help but notice that it's shaking slightly in her hand. You take the folder, deciding not to comment.

"Sorry I didn't get a match," she says apologetically. "If you find me another gun, I'll see what I can do."

The whole dance is maddening, and you want to shout at her, tell her to talk to you. Just let it out for once. You know for a fact that she can't continue to bottle things up, but you know that at this point, telling her so would be completely useless. It's not that she wouldn't listen…it's that your relationship has regressed in a way you never imagined, and you don't have the same rights you used to.

-------Calleigh-------

It's unbelievable how bothered you are by something so innocuous; something that's a part of your everyday life. You find you're unable to concentrate on Valera's DNA report as her earlier words run through your head: _"Oh, I like your pants. Are they new?"_

A few days ago, you bought new pants. Pants that you have to wear today because you can't button your 'normal' pants anymore. You're honestly not sure when or how it happened, but it seems like one day they just didn't fit.

And it's so frustrating.

There have been times in your life where you wondered if you were actually in control, but now you're convinced you're not. As of late it has become increasingly clear that you are, in fact, unable to direct your thoughts and feelings as well as you once could.

Eric can tell—he's even called you out on it a few times, but what do you do?

"Calleigh?"

You hear your name from far away and manage a distracted "Hmm?" as you quickly try to bring yourself back to the present moment. Finally, you focus your eyes on Valera, and she's staring at you, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed. Basically, she looks like she's never seen you before.

"Welcome back," she says hesitantly.

You smile slightly. "Sorry. Please continue."

"Uh…that was it." She sounds uncertain of herself, like maybe the full-out explanation she gave you wasn't enough.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Calleigh." The voice comes from behind you, and you spin quickly, grateful for the distraction.

"Yeah?" you say pleasantly as Alexx makes her way to you. "What are you doing over here?"

Finally coming to a stop in front of you, she holds out a folder. "Somebody missed our autopsy appointment," she says. Her words are a mixture of admonishment, worry, and a little bit of humor.

She leads you out of DNA, and you carefully shut the door behind you. "I thought that was at two," you reply, looking down at your watch to discover that two o'clock is long gone. "Oh, I am so sorry. What do we have?"

She looks down at you carefully, eyebrows raised. "A slightly worried ME, baby."

"Oh? What did you find?" Of course you're not that dense. You know she's not talking about the autopsy, but you can always try and steer it away from yourself. It's funny though, as you stand here looking at Alexx, you can almost feel the tears welling in your eyes. If you were going to talk to anyone in the lab, Alexx would be the one to talk to. And she'd probably have some good insights.

But you can't bring yourself to talk to Alexx about it because this is your problem, and you will solve it in your own way. At your own pace.

"Calleigh," her tone is full of that motherly admonishment you've heard before, directed at you or one of your co-workers for something. You wonder, briefly, if you'll develop a 'mommy voice.' "Is everything okay?" she asks, dropping her voice. She reaches a hand out, gently squeezing your arm.

"Yeah, I'm just so sorry I stood you up for that autopsy," you say, clearly drawing the line. And Alexx must know what you're doing because she nods; however, her eyes don't lose the slightly suspicious look as you discuss the autopsy findings.

You leave the meeting with Alexx and retreat to the ballistics lab, your little cave, feeling completely exasperated.

There have been times in your life when you felt that the world was crumbling around you, but you always managed to keep yourself together. Growing up with your family, you came to pride yourself in being the steady rock amidst the stormy seas. Now suddenly, everything's falling apart: missed bullets, missed autopsies, you can't concentrate; more than anything, you can feel your strength eroding.

The day drags on as you try to pull yourself out of the pit you seemed to have jumped into. You find yourself mostly doing paper work and reviewing evidence; today others get to follow the leads.

Later, when you meet up with Horatio in the ballistics lab, he suggests you leave early, maybe get some rest. You snap at him for thinking you're less than capable of doing your job, but after falling asleep _in_ the break room _during_ your shift, you seriously begin to wonder.

-------Eric-------

When you arrive at the lab on Thursday morning, Calleigh's car is in the parking lot. As much as you might deny it to anyone who asks, you're immediately compelled to find her and talk to her. It's not like Calleigh to almost completely avoid you for months on end. It's not like Calleigh to be so…so what?

Overall, it's not like Calleigh, and you want to understand why.

Striding into the ballistics lab, you find that you can still feel compassion. You harness that and use it to your advantage.

"Hey, What are you doing here so early?"

She alternates between looking through the microscope and jotting down notes on a piece of paper, clearly avoiding turning her head. It seems like ages before she finally speaks.

"Knitting," she says, attempting and failing to lighten the mood. When you don't offer any response to this, she sighs and turns in her seat, pushing the files away from her. "What's up?" she asks nonchalantly.

Your eyebrows shoot into your forehead. Is she serious? However, in the second it takes you to recover, she's already opened her mouth to speak again.

"Would you take a look at this bullet?" she asks, turning back to her microscope.

"No." The word comes out of your mouth strong and defiant. A small—very small—voice in the back of your head reprimands you for letting your work and personal lives come together at this moment, but you quickly push that voice out of your head and stare at Calleigh's back.

When she turns, she's frowning and looks, if possible, more exhausted than ever. "Please, I just need—"

You can hear the uncharacteristic pleading in her voice, but you ignore it. "—no, Calleigh. We need to talk."

Slowly, she lifts her eyes to meet your gaze. By the look in her eyes, you've just hit a dead end. "Eric, I can't talk right now…" she says, trailing off as footsteps echo down the hallway.

Mere seconds later, Horatio strides into the room. His eyes shift between you and Calleigh, finally focusing on you, studying you intently. However, he doesn't say anything right away. "Calleigh, how's it going with the bullet?" he says finally, shifting his gaze back to Calleigh.

"Take a look; I checked it three times. The bullet from the gun Mr. Colton was holding doesn't match the bullet from the vic," she explains, stepping aside so Horatio can peer through the microscope.

"Hmmm. So why did he have his gun then?"

You leave as Calleigh answers. You're smart enough to know you've just been blown off, and now you're just angry. Brushing past Ryan to enter the trace lab, you don't even attempt to be civil. Instead, you acquire the evidence you need to look at and situate yourself at the table.

"Bad morning?" Ryan asks carefully.

Telling Ryan off isn't going to make the situation any better, but if you open your mouth to say anything, you're sure to spew anger and profanity. So you give him a curt nod, your eyes not once leaving the evidence. Eventually, he disappears.

"Eric?" Horatio says, walking up to your table.

"What?" you snap, not even trying to put yourself in check.

He raises an eyebrow and ducks his head slightly, fixing you with a mild stare. "Eric," he says again, this time with a hint of warning in his voice.

You sigh inwardly and reign in your temper. "Sorry, H. What's up?" you ask, attempting to sound more civil this time.

Horatio doesn't say anything for a long time, and you know this is his quite entreaty for you to talk to him about anything bothering you. However, you don't. You sigh audibly, running both hands through your hair. "This Colton case is starting to screw with me. I think we missed something." Is all you offer.

He nods carefully. "Why don't you take Mr. Wolfe and return to the crime scene," he suggests. Horatio isn't a stupid man, and it would be an insult to his intelligence to believe you can let something (even something stupid) slip past him. For all you know, there's no need for you to revisit the crime scene and he knows you need to clear your head.

However, you don't care what his motive is. You take Ryan and return to the scene. If you had to admit to anything not making sense in this case, it's the crime scene. The police found Mr. and Mrs. Colton parked at the edge of the 'glades, both slumped against their car.

The location (and now ballistics evidence) seems to indicate that there was someone else at the scene. When you originally processed the scene, you checked for footprints and tire tracks but came up blank. Now, you expand the search perimeter, taking into account that if there was a third person, they kept away from the site.

You check where the car had been, but the only foot traffic belongs to the officers and investigators working the scene. However, as you expand your search outward, you find unidentifiable indentations in the soggy grass that lead you to believe a human walked here. But that's all they tell you; they give nothing to indicate who that person might have been. Regardless, you measure and photograph each of the indentations.

The work was tedious, but it had the effect Horatio had obviously anticipated. When you return to the lab, you've managed to entrench yourself so far in the case that you hardly notice any of your coworkers, let alone Calleigh.

-------Calleigh-------

You spent the last few nights telling yourself over and over how important it is for you to talk to Eric, but back in the lab in the morning light, your resolve is gone. Therefore, all you can do is observe from a distance. Natalia's right; Eric has become a workaholic. For the past two days, he's showed up early and gone home late. Even Horatio has been out of the lab more.

"Hey," he says, appearing almost magically before you. You tense visibly but try to recover quickly.

"Hey," you echo with a stiff smile, unconsciously straightening whatever is on the table before you.

"H needs us to talk to Jamie Colton." His voice holds almost no hint of familiarity. His stance is rigid and his gaze is direct. Right now, he's all business. You had expected to be relieved when he finally distanced himself, but if anything, you felt more hollow.

"The son?" you ask warily.

Eric nods.

"Is he here?"

"No, we have to go over to the middle school."

Now it's your turn to nod as you wonder what happened to the whole 'staying-in-the-lab-until-told-to-do-otherwise' business. Rather than protest, you follow him out to the hummer. When he offers you the keys, you shake your head and slip in on the passenger's side without a word.

The drive to the school seems to take hours. Eric has his eyes trained on the road, but you watch determinedly out the side window, searching for something you could talk about. Finally, he reaches over and turns the radio down.

"So how was Minnesota?"

"They drink pop," you respond automatically. You have no idea where that came from, and evidently, Eric is just as baffled as you.

"Excuse me?"

"Instead of soda. They call it pop," you clarify. "And they play duck, duck, gray duck…instead of duck, duck, goose." And what are you talking about? It's like some socially awkward teenager has taken over your body, and you're spewing state trivia. If you were in any other situation, if you were watching someone else flounder like this, it might be humorous. This, however, is anything but funny.

You chance a sideways look at him to see a bemused smile on his lips, like he's not quite sure what to make of this.

So you let out a small laugh. "It was good…" However, you can't bring yourself to elaborate, to go beyond surface observations about odd differences between Minnesota and Florida. Instead, you turn your gaze back out the window and stay that way until you reach the school.

At the school, you dive right into questioning the kid because work is your only buffer right now. And until you escape to the ballistics lab, you're amazed at how well you occupy the silence with small talk. But even your small talk has changed; it no longer had that slightly uncertain yet humorous feeling that used to follow the awkwardness of accidental (or sometimes accidental) innuendos cropping up in your conversations with Eric. No, this is a degree of uncomfortable you felt on the few times you allowed someone to set you up on a blind date.

So you keep talking about everything and nothing, hoping that if you can fill the silence, there will be no questions, no concerns.

Later on he comes to you about ballistic evidence, and you continue your awkward dance, your body screaming to tell him you need to talk. Instead, you shift around the lab, gathering what he needs and talking mindlessly the entire time.

"Cal," he finally says, effectively cutting off your nervous babbling. You stare at him, confused. He offers you a small smile that looks more like a grimace. "We can't keep doing this," he pleads.

You force yourself to meet his eyes. You've been able to read his feelings all these months. First it was reckless passion, a hunger followed all too quickly with confusion and pleading. Since then, his eyes have revealed various stages of confusion giving way to frustration. Now, all the confusion is gone and there's a new level of frustration (perhaps anger) you've never seen before.

"Calleigh, just once. Just once let me in," he says. His voice is surprisingly void of emotion.

Your brain is telling you exactly what to say, and before you know what you're doing, your mouth is open. Eric is watching expectantly, but your voice falters and you shake your head. You bow your head and close your eyes as you will yourself to talk to him, to say anything; when you finally open your eyes and look up, Eric is no longer in front of you, no longer in the room.

When you enter the locker room at the end of your shift, you notice right away that Eric is in there gathering his things to go home. You stop in the doorway and lean against the frame, considering him carefully. Perhaps someone somewhere would find this comical, but you want to run.

"Eric," you say tentatively, testing the waters.

He slams his locker shut and flings his bag over his shoulder. "So we're just going to act like this forever?" he says bitterly. "Calleigh…" But he seems to be at a complete loss for words. You wonder briefly what you would say if you were him.

It wouldn't be nice.

"Can we get together for dinner or something?" You say, and he's staring blankly at you, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. "I need to talk to you…"

He stares at you, anger once again evident in his features. "I'm busy," he says slipping past you. You turn and watch him walk away; you're desperately gathering your nerve to stop him.


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: Just a warning, Calleigh's section has a bit more profanity than I usually include in my stories.

-------Eric-------

When you finally reach your apartment, you're in a foul mood. You close the door extra gently, resisting the urge to slam it, and make a beeline for the kitchen. You retrieve some leftovers and a glass of water and place yourself in front of the television, but your mind is racing.

You know Calleigh can be completely enigmatic. Over the years, you'd learned to decipher her looks, her moods…her secrets; but this is something different. Now you're at a complete loss to understand her. Four months of completely withdrawing from you, and _now_she wants to talk? If this had been any other woman, you'd think the whole thing a manipulation tactic, a way of punishing you for what happened.

But Calleigh's not punishing you, you realize. No, for Calleigh, the instinct for self-preservation is far more overpowering than vindictively lashing out. The CSI in you is reviewing every conversation you've had with Calleigh over the past few months, trying to pick out anything that might help explain what's going on.

_You're certain you've never seen her like this. She's pale and shaky as she surveys the crime scene—an entire family dead, their bodies completely mutilated. Your stomach feels uneasy, but you can handle it. She looks awful. Her skin is pale and her hand is shaky as she places it against the doorframe, attempting to regain her composure_

_"Cal?" you say, placing a hand gently on her elbow._

_Turning quickly, she says, "Excuse me," and she's out the door._

_You know you probably shouldn't, but you give her a little head start and then follow her. She's outside, just around the side of the house, kneeling in the grass with her hand pressed against the wall. As you approach, she heaves, expelling whatever she had for breakfast. Calleigh takes a shuddering breath, her arm wobbling weakly against the side of the house. She's (if possible) paler than before and little beads of perspiration have begun to gather on her skin._

_The past few weeks are forgotten as you kneel down beside her, brushing her hair from her face. You know better than to say anything right away. Calleigh's proud, and it's bad enough that you've trespassed on her moment of weakness._

_Letting out one last heave, she drops her hand and collapses against the wall, drawing her knees up to her body, moaning at the effort. "I'm fine," she says, her shaky voice giving you the impression she wants to justify her actions. "I'm okay."Pressing her hands against the side of the house, she moves to push herself to a standing position. _

_You put your hand on her shoulder, a nonverbal appeal for her to stay. "It's brutal in there," you say quietly. She shakes her head but stops quickly, burying her head in her hands. "I can finish up here. Maybe you should—"_

_"—Eric, It's okay. __Really."__ She shrugs your hand away and pushes herself up._

_You know you should probably let it drop, but she's standing before you pale, and still shaky. "Maybe you should go home, or at least back to the lab."_

_Calleigh shakes her head, placing a hand gently on your arm, and you're not surprised as your entire body tunes into that one patch of skin beneath her hand. Slowly, you look up to meet her eyes. For the first time in forever, she gives you a genuine smile. _

_"I'm fine."_

You're not quite sure how you ended up at her door (and you certainly don't remember the drive), but here you are. As you stand waiting, you shift uncomfortably, trying to find a way to occupy your hands. You decide to slide your hands into your pockets just as the door swings open to reveal Calleigh in a sliver of light, looking bewildered.

"Eric?" she practically breathes your name, and it's clear that she's as surprised at you being there as you are.

You pull your hands out of your pockets and cross your arms tightly over your chest. For the first time since she went on vacation, you allow yourself to really, really look at her. The dim light coming from her apartment silhouettes her petite form, and you're reminded that you've probably never met anyone as strong as this woman. The effect is quickly lost as she shifts in the doorway, allowing you to see her face: she's pale and drooped; her eyes are hollow, tired, and slightly puffy; she's nibbling her lower lip, seemingly perplexed.

"Are you okay?" she asks studying you carefully, hesitantly. Well, at least you're not the one asking for once. You nod slightly. "Would you like to come in?" Calleigh opens the door wider, stepping back to allow you entrance, and you wonder briefly if she's got a gun stashed nearby.

Regardless, you step inside her apartment and follow her to the kitchen. "Cal, I'm sorry…for earlier today. I was a jerk."

She shakes her head slightly, leaning against the counter. "I should be sorry…" she trails off; you imagine she's trying to put into words exactly what she's sorry for. Because it's Calleigh, you imagine she's compiled a long list of transgressions and is working to find a concise way to apologize them all.

"So…can I still take you up on your offer to talk?" you ask. You want to understand right now; the apologies can come later.

"Eric," she says slowly. As you study her and notice the little things that show you she's struggling to keep her controlled demeanor: her hands are shaking ever so slightly as she clasps them in front of her, spreading her palms and pressing them down on the table. And, as a general rule, her eyes fail to meet yours. When they do, she seems small, scared, guilty.

Finally, she slides into the seat nearest her and motions for you to sit down before once again clasping her hands. Her eyes momentarily shutter closed, but when they open, she holds your gaze, having every appearance of being in control. "Eric," she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, "I'm pregnant."

Momentarily, your heart seizes and then begins slamming against your chest. Only when you feel lightheaded do you realize you haven't breathed in a while.

You study her (if you didn't know better, you'd think she was leading an interrogation). She's got that stoic, unreadable expression on her face, the one she's patented for use during questioning, not surprising revelations like this. As the words pinball around your head, you realize you're still standing, but your legs are suddenly unable to hold you.

Sinking into the chair, you echo the last word, but you can't wrap your brain around it. Your head is throbbing, and the fast steady beat matches your heart. Had you ever been told to imagine this scenario, you'd have thought the words would hit you like a ton of bricks, but you seem almost impervious to them. Instead, you just look at Calleigh, trying to find something to say.

"I haven't, uh—been with anyone else," she explains quietly.

"No…" your response is faint, barely audible.

Vaguely, you remember a time not so long ago. Similar words, different circumstances…different woman. That time not so long ago, you were willing to take responsibility, but when it ended up being only a scare, you were relieved. You hadn't wanted to be tied down with a child, not with that woman.

This time is different in so many ways.

Maybe it seems odd, but you've imagined a future with Calleigh. Sure a child _could_ have been involved (and you were more than okay with that), but it never should have happened this way.

She's leveled you with an intense stare. You know that you must be gaping at her, but you can't help it. _It was supposed to be different._ This phrase runs through your head like a bad movie playing on a loop. You can almost picture what should have happened, and it wouldn't have included secrets, ambiguity, or a one-night stand.

Even as you sit at her kitchen table, you realize there could have been more and wonder if there's still a chance for that. You can picture the two of you sitting in a nicely furnished living room. _Your left hand is intertwined with her right, but your right ha__nd holds a small stick—__a pregnancy test. You waited the five minutes for the results to show, and now you're teasing her with it, having too much fun not giving her a straight answer. With quick reflexes, her hand shoots out, gripping the test strip, but you don't let go. A few more tugs and she has the test out of your hand._

_"Oh," she says slowly._

_"We're having a baby," you tell her, and the goofy grin is evident on your face. She counters with a bright smile and reaches her hand up, hooking it around your neck. Your lips meet lightly, and she's smiling into the kiss._

_"We are," she says._

But that's not what happened.

"That was four months ago," you say as this realization hits you.

"Look, I just thought you should know," she says stiffly. She's going into professional mode, and you know that she's trying to distance herself.

You're angry, but you gently take one of her hands in both of yours. She flinches slightly—you're pushing it. "Calleigh? Why did you wait so long?" As the words slip from your mouth, you hope she understands you're not patronizing her. In reality, you can't decide whether you're upset that she didn't tell you sooner or angry with yourself for not being more persistent.

She's struggling to maintain her calm and cool demeanor but failing miserably. She brings one shaky hand up to toy with a strand of hair; the other is gripping yours like it's her only lifeline. You're hard-pressed to remember a time you've seen her so far from her element.

"Eric," she whispers, stopping abruptly as her words die in her mouth. Clearly, she's just as lost as you are (though she's had a bit more time to process this).

Right now, you can't even imagine the look on your face as you study her, utterly confused. You let your hand slip out of hers and run it through your hair. You can't help it as your eyes leave hers and travel down her body. The involuntary shudder that ripples through her causes you to remember another time you looked at her like that.

A different time in a different life.

But that led to where you're at now. Your brain doesn't want to reconcile the two outcomes of that night: on one hand, you and Calleigh have never been more distant, but on the other…

"I-I have a picture." Seemingly of their own accord, her hands are fumbling to open her purse. Finally, she takes out her checkbook, sliding a small piece of paper from it. She returns the checkbook to her purse and hands the picture to you.

You take it carefully, but you don't trust yourself to look at it quite yet, so you lock eyes withCalleigh. She shifts uncomfortably but says nothing.

Finally, you lower your eyes to the photo—you've never seen a sonogram like this before. Instead of being grainy, barely recognizable objects in shades of black, white, and gray, this picture looks 3-D and almost flesh colored. Unlike the ultrasounds of old, you don't need anyone to outline out the baby because you can see it clearly; it's sucking its thumb.

Your baby.

It feels like someone has reached into your body and is now squeezing your insides. You struggle to steady your breathing. Is this really happening? You choke out a breathy "Wow," as you continue to study the picture intently. Finally, you place it carefully on the table and look up at Calleigh. She shifts again under your gaze, and her mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to figure out what to say.

In truth, you don't know what to say either. Is this all worth it? Is it going to be worth it in the end? You wonder if there's any way you and Calleigh will be able to salvage your friendship (you can't even think about the possibility—or lack thereof—of a relationship. Not right now). What's Calleigh feeling, and why can't she just talk to you? You used to be able to talk openly, but now…

You push these thoughts aside, refusing to dive into the middle of the confusion. "Calleigh…" You're suddenly very aware of the uniqueness of your present situation. After all, there's no known protocol for discovering your best friend, whom you slept with four months ago, is pregnant.

"What are you thinking?" she asks quietly.

Calleigh's watching you carefully, the silent pleading in her eyes barely masked by the stoic front she's so good at putting up. The words tumble from your mouth, "Listen, I can't…" You stop, taking a deep breath and gathering your thoughts. "I need some time to think.

-------Calleigh-------

You seem to be stumbling along behind him in a haze, and he doesn't even look back. He reaches the door and leaves quietly (still without a second glance) saying he needs some time to process this. You push yourself into the door, grabbing the handle for stability. With shaky hands, you lock the door and press your back against it, allowing your head to fall back as well.

"Fuck," the word, one you only use in special situations, escapes along with a [despondent sob as your legs collapse beneath you and you slide to the floor. "Fuck," you whisper again.

Your hands are beside your legs on either side of your body. You glance at your white knuckles only to realize you're squeezing your hands so tightly it's painful. You release and your fingers spring free of your palm. Color immediately returns, turning each finger a bright shade of red.

What had you expected anyway? That your revelation would magically repair any damage to your relationship? To find out that it was all really a nightmare? Perhaps a shotgun marriage to make you an honorable woman?

You laugh bitterly because that's what your parents had done. You were their little mistake that led to years of pain and suffering for both of them. Briefly, you allow yourself to escape back into your nine-year-old brain.

_It's almost midnight, but you're now shaking so badly you couldn't sleep if you wanted to. Had you been put to bed, drunken arguing would have woken you up. As it was, your mother had only parted with her drink long enough to tuck the little boys into bed, telling you you__'d__ best get ready as well._

_And you did as you were told. You always did as you were told__. Why? __B__ecause__ just__ maybe you would be more lovable.__ Halfway through brushing your teeth, you hear the front door bang open and you can almost picture your father staggering in. You know you have to hurry now because while your mother might be apathetic regarding your bedtime, your father is not._

_Quickly, you spit into the sink and rinse all traces of toothpaste away, eventually turning the faucet off. You dart from the bathroom, knowing that if you can just make it to your bed they might not fight._

_Instead, you run headfirst into your dad's solid body. "Lamb Chop?" he says with a heavy tongue. "You should be in bed."_

_Even at nine, you've learned there are things you can do to diffuse any situation that might arise in your house, so you quickly lie, "I had to use the bathroom."_

_But it doesn't work this time. He narrows his somewhat crossed eyes, and for as inebriated as he is, he's not stupid. "Get to your room, Calleigh," he orders you quietly. However, he doesn't wait to see if you follow orders. He spins on his heel, nearly tripping over himself, and thumps down the stairs. It's only a matter of moments before you hear angry shouting._

_"—just a damn kid!__ You're supposed to have them in bed," your father is yelling, slamming various cupboards and drawers for effect. You hear him plop heavily into a chair._

_"Because I'm your little housewife," your mother sneers._

_"I've been working all day and I come home to find my house __a mess__, kids not in bed—"_

_"—working?!" y__our mother shouts. "Yeah, it _smells_ like you've been working." She laughs raucously; you imagine her banging her hand three times against the table._

_"Don't—don't! I__ work to support this family—__" B__ut__ your father is cut off by a burst of laughter, and even though your mother's voice lowers, the walls are thin and you can hear just fine._

_"A damn drunken fumbling, unwanted surprises, and an under-the-table marriage!__ You call that a family? Bull shit! We both know that this never would have happened if—"_

_"—enough!" he says, effectively cutting her off. Your father has always been more cognizant of his words, even while he's drunk. Perhaps it's the lawyer in him. And even though he stopped your mom from finishing, you understand that they both blame you._

_This is hard to reconcile in your young mind because you know that your parents love you. You can especially see it when they're both sober. However, in moments like this, it seems that the tr__uth finally rears its ugly head. Y__ou, Calleigh Duquesne, were the mistake that led two people into an unhappy life…an unhappy marriage. Perhaps if you didn't exist, the people you love would be happier._

_For a little girl, that's an immense weight._

You're stunned to realize you've lost all control over yourself as you sit, pressed against your door. Tears are running unashamedly down your cheeks as desperate, strangled sobs escape your throat.

You can almost imagine this child in a few years. Probably a mini-Eric, and while you'd like to think you'd be a better parent than your own, a grain of doubt is enough to cause a massive irritation on raw wounds.

What would it be like in a couple years? Would the child have to go back and forth between two homes? Would he or she spend nights listening to you and Eric fight? Could you be a family, a happy family?

A/N: Special thanks to Jodie for encouragement and editing.

A/N take 2: She told him! You all can't hate me anymore. : )

A/N the third: This story is almost done! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, opinions, limericks…all that good stuff!


	10. Chapter 10

As always, thanks to Jodie who seems to have a lot on her plate. I'd dedicate this to you, lady, but you deserve better :D Maybe the next one.

-------Eric-------

Your senses had been so acutely aware of every little thing when you were in Calleigh's apartment. Every movement, every touch, smell, sound, all of it, is permanently ingrained in your mind. Now, as you walk to your car, you're numb. You see only through a tunnel, your decisions limited to whether or not you will move another step. For all the attention you're paying, it could snow right now and you wouldn't notice.

When you finally reach your car, you fumble for your keys, quickly realizing you're still clutching the sonogram. Your heart constricts in your chest as you look at it once more, taking in every part of it. The bottom is labeled C. Duquesne, and that is probably the most telling because you know then that it couldn't belong to anyone else.

C. Duquesne.

The date on the upper right corner tells you it was done shortly before Calleigh took her vacation. Perhaps if think hard enough, long enough, you'll remember how the day played out…when Calleigh had her appointment. Most likely you came to work that morning and were immediately whisked away to a crime scene. But the crime scenes and procedures bleed together, but it's that time—probably after the initial crime scenes in the midst of analyzing evidence, dealing with suspects, returning to the crime scene as needed—that Calleigh would have slipped away to her appointment. By then, she knew she was pregnant, eleven weeks according to the photo.

So you have clues, but like with so many crimes, they only seem to be understood in hindsight.

You could have gone running…or diving. You could have gone to the crime lab to channel your energy, but instead you find yourself on another doorstep. A quick glance at your watch tells you he's probably in bed or getting ready for it, and in truth, you should be too.. But you knock again and wait patiently.

Finally, you hear noises behind the door. It opens, and your father's head peeks out, eyes squinting and hair ruffled. "Eric?" he says, opening the door wider to reveal a terrycloth robe, pajama pants, and thick moccasin-like slippers. "Is everything okay?

What are you doing here? Something's going on and you run to your parents...are you twelve? Not to mention your parents are more Catholic than the Pope. You're going to tell them you're having a baby? You squint, trying to find the right words. Eventually you settle on "Can I come in?"

Your father backs away from the door, holding it open and you step through.

"Eric honey! Are you okay?" your mom asks. She walks quickly towards you, taking your face in her hands. Her eyes scan your face carefully. "You seem sad." It was a simple sentence, but one she had said times before. And it was always the same. First, her dark eyes would probe your face, a hand coming to rest lightly on your cheek like you were still seven, then the look in her eyes would turn to concern, and she'd say 'you seem sad,' or 'what's wrong, baby?' But you're not a little kid anymore, and she can't fix things with a band-aid.

You shake your head slightly. "Mom, I…" is all you can muster as all of the other letters to make words swirl around in your head, confusing you further. For the life of you, you're trying to understand why you chose to come to your parents. Perhaps you didn't know where else to go. Perhaps you subconsciously expect them to make everything right. "Calleigh's pregnant," you blurt suddenly, unable to contain your anger.

Your eyes shift between your parents, and you don't know how to read the looks on their faces. But both faces are undecipherable. They've met Calleigh before, know that your sisters harass you about your relationship with her, but do they know much beyond that?

"Eric?" your mother prods gently.

"She waited so long…"

"Would you like some tea?" your mother asks, taking control of the conversation. "I made a cake today."

Thrown off by the abrupt change, you shake your head. "No, mom…thanks." But it doesn't matter because she's pulled you into the living room and forced you into a chair. After she gets you settled, she goes to the kitchen to prepare something you probably won't be able to eat. Your father, however, sits down across from you. Rather than speak, he watches you. If you had to be truthful with yourself, you'd have to admit that you and your dad don't get along as well as you could. After all, he had one plan for your life and you had another. Now, however, sitting across from him in the living room, you feel that of all the people you could talk to, he would understand best.

But where do you begin?

You remember so many times sitting face to face with your father. Some of those times you were in trouble, sometimes you merely had a "man-to-man" with him. Regardless, he always waited patiently for you to speak. This is how he was now, posed on the couch, leaning forward, and watching you with the fiercely gentle eyes that always required truth.

"She didn't tell me for four months," you burst suddenly. "Four damn months!" You shoot up from the chair so quickly your head spins, and before you know it, you're moving around the room, looking for anything to occupy your attention. But nothing does because your whole mind is focused on tonight and on Calleigh's revelation. "Dad, did she just think…what did she think?"

Your father shakes his head slowly, eyes still focused on you.

"Calleigh's pregnant. She didn't tell me," you repeat as though begging your father to take some sort of action. Suddenly, you feel childish, like you're seven again, telling on the neighbor girl who chased and pinned you down just to kiss you. You look him straight in the eyes, searching for any wisdom, anger, comprehension…anything for you to understand what he's thinking.

"Calleigh your friend from work?" he says finally.

You nod, frustrated, and run your hands through your hair You bow your head and rub your eyes. This was not on your list of things to discuss with your parents. A short while later, your mom joins you in the living room, handing you a small cup of tea. What do you expect? What should you expect? When your friend Joshua first told you where babies came from, you refused to believe him for two solid months because Pavel and Clorinda Delko would never do something so sinful—especially not four times.

Now you sit before them, awaiting their advice but expecting harsh judgment.

"Look, it was an accident, and it shouldn't have happened," you explain lamely. "We've barely spoken since it happened."

You can barely manage your own life, and suddenly you have the responsibility of a little life—but even that's complicated. Calleigh's strong and independent, and you're scared that she will push you away. She doesn't need your help to raise a child and for all you know, she doesn't want you to help. But that's not who you are. You don't want to be the guy who got Calleigh pregnant. More than anything, that's what disturbs you: that you'll be reduced to nothing more than the sperm donor.

"So you regret it?" your father asks, pulling you abruptly from your thoughts. "Feel like you've made a mistake?"

You're taken aback, unsure of how to respond. The guilty part of your brain tells you that yes, you should be repentant. But a larger part of your brain says otherwise. "No," you say simply, offering no more and no less than that one simple word.

"And you shouldn't be," your mom says fiercely.

Your father removes his glasses, placing them on the end table and leans toward you. "But?" he asks knowingly. Your father was never one to assume. Instead, he takes time to ask questions, to analyze. Perhaps that's where you got it all from.

But what? There are so many buts, and you wouldn't know where to begin. "I don't know."

You and your father have had similar conversations in the past, and he knows which buttons to push to get you to talk, even when you don't want to. So you attempt to explain the jumble that is your mind, the past few months. Starting over and over, you finally manage to give him some semblance of an answer, but even you're not quite sure you understand exactly.

"When did life get so complicated, huh?" he says rhetorically, offering a small, humorless laugh. "Eric, I wish I had a good anecdote or words of wisdom for you, but all I can tell you is this: life isn't easy, and things aren't always going to go as planned. I'm sure you've messed up in the past, and you'll probably mess up again, but when there's something worth fixing, something worth pursuing, you do it with your entire being."

"I can't just go apologize and have everything be okay. It doesn't work that way with Calleigh."

"And it shouldn't." His words are crisp, matter-of-fact.

"I'm angry with her," you admit suddenly, the swell of anger rising in your body. When did you become Peter Brady? You just go and talk to your parents and suddenly all the wrongs are righted? No, that's not now it works. But it doesn't matter because you continue. "Does she think this changes everything and—"

"But it does change everything," your mom cuts you off with softly spoken words that could almost be comforting. "You're having a baby."

"_She's_ having a baby. She's made it abundantly clear that she doesn't need me." You can almost feel all rational thought sliding from your brain as you vent. You're up and pacing the living room, making large loops around the furniture as your parents follow with their eyes.

"You need to calm down."

Rather than respond verbally, you shoot both of your parents hard looks. You don't remember ever being this emotionally volatile, but it doesn't matter. Someone needs to understand your frustration.

"Eric, I think the only way you're going to figure things out is if you sit down and talk it all out."

"Yeah?" you laugh, "Like we have the past couple months? Because we can fix this?" It's an odd feeling that you can't explain as your emotions flop back and forth between hope and defeat. One moment you can't see how any of this can be salvaged, the next moment all you know is that this is Calleigh and you _have_ to work it out. Sitting down with a harsh plop, you place your head in your hands to try and quell the emerging headache. "Where's the lecture?"

"What lecture?" your father asks, carefully studying you.

And you want to gape at them both. What lecture?! You're certain they know full well what lecture you're referring to, and it will most likely be similar to the one they gave when your mom found a condom in your pants pocket one weekend you were home from college.

Your mom smiles slightly. "I only have advice: talk to Calleigh and work this out with all the integrity we raised you to have." You give a slight snort. Maybe you did step into an alternate Brady Bunch universe where everything is fixed by talking and your parents give you sappy advice.

Then again, maybe it isn't so far-fetched.

A/N: Okay…so a little corny, but Eric had to talk to someone! I think there is going to be one more chapter after this, and then it is all done, baby!!! Ten points to anyone who can figure out what part of this story is inspired by real life stuff!


	11. Chapter 11

So…four months later and this is all I've got. I own nothing, and if you don't like it, feel free to talk to Jodie :D.

--Calleigh--

_You're vaguely aware of small hands gripping your arm, attempting to shake you."Mommy. _Mama_." The little voice is insistent, totally unrelenting. "Mommy, wake _up_!"_

_Carefully, you open your eyes. As you're pulled slowly from your sleep, you're surprised to realize that you are not in your own bed but falling off the edge of a twin bed, your legs covered by a light purple comforter. You shift slightly, trying to maintain your balance._

"_Hey, baby," you murmur, pulling your daughter closer to you. _

_She pulls away, however, and stares directly up at you, her every feature reflecting her father —unruly dark hair, falling in gentle curls around her face (that's going to be a bear to untangle in the morning), lightly tanned skin (a mixture of heredity and sun), even his nose. If it wasn't for her penetrating green eyes, you'd wonder if you had anything to do with her. "Why'd you stop reading?"she asks, tapping the book._

_Your entire body is heavy as you struggle to regain coherency. Briefly, you consider closing your eyes and going back to sleep—you're so tired—but she continues to hold you in her intense stare. You push yourself back to a sitting position. "Okay," you say with a yawn, "crawl under your blankets and I'll finish." As she snuggles herself into you, you look down at the book; you have no idea where you left off._

"_The other puppies couldn't find the Pokey Little Puppy," she explains emphatically. Great…that's pretty much the whole book, and you're basically just staring at the page when she speaks again. "Mama," she says with a frown, "is the baby exhausting you?"_

_Biting back a smile at the question matching, almost verbatim, a comment you made nearly a month ago, you lean down to kiss her forehead. Suddenly, she leans over. Her tone is commanding as she presses the side of her face to your rounded belly. "Let Mommy rest; you're making her tired." She's gracious enough not to add that she wants to finish her book, but you know she's thinking it. You smile, placing your hand on her hair._

"_You know, I said the same thing to a certain little girl earlier tonight," says a voice from the bedroom doorway. Looking up, you find Eric striding purposefully toward the bed. "Tired?" he asks, placing a gentle kiss to your hair. You nod._

"_No, it's the baby," comes the adamant reply from your daughter. To emphasize her point, she shakes her head firmly._

_The bed dips under Eric's weight. "What do you say we call it a night?" he suggests, gently stroking her hair. She lifts her head, a deep frown on her face, and for a minute, you wonder if _

_you'll have a tantrum on your hands. But she eventually nods and leans over to place a wet kiss on your abdomen._

"_G'night," she whispers before bringing her face to meet yours. "'Night, Mommy," she says, kissing you._

_Beside you, Eric is already standing, hand out to help you up. You take his hand, and as you struggle, even with Eric's help, to get out of the bed, you hear giggling. Eric has always had the grace not to laugh, but your daughter always finds it hilarious to watch you get up._

"_Good night," you say with emphasis. With a sheepish smile, she snuggles deeper into her bed, leaving only a mop of hair and a small part of her face for Eric to kiss before you both leave the room, shutting the door behind you._

_As soon as the door clicks shut, he turns to you. "Hey," he says, leaning in to press his lips softly to yours._

"_Hey," you respond, allowing him to back you gently into the wall. You wrap your arms around his neck, but as you lean in to kiss him again, you're stopped by a giant yawn. "Sorry. I'm so tired," you mumble leaning your head on his shoulder._

"_You need to get to bed."_

_Silently, you nod and slip past him, heading to the bedroom. Thankful you're all ready for bed, you lower yourself to the bed and begin the arduous task of situating yourself for the night. Your tired brain is vaguely aware as Eric slips into the bathroom. When he emerges, you still haven't made yourself comfortable, but you stop, watching, as he rids himself of his pants and shirt, walking around the bed to what you'd traditionally consider your side._

_You feel the mattress sink slightly as he crawls into bed beside you. "What are you doing?" you ask sleepily._

"_Going to sleep," he responds, scooting closer to you._

"_It's 8:30. You'll never be able to fall asleep," you argue, silently omitting the fact that you don't know if you'd be able to sleep without him there._

"_Yeah I will. Want the comforter?"_

_You smile. "No…'m too hot."_

_He peals the comforter off you and sweeps your hair off your neck, lightly kissing your shoulder. "I'm surprised you're not bothered by my body heat," he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around you._

_You wiggle slightly, pressing your back firmly against his chest, reveling in his warm breath against your neck. "Can't sleep without you," you murmur._

"_Good." You hear the smile in his voice and can't help but smile yourself. Again, he kisses your shoulder, bringing his hand down to massage your back. "I love you, Calleigh," he says, softly, the four words you know you'll never tire of hearing._

You awake with a headache and a cramp in your lower back. Gently, you push yourself off the floor, disappointed to realize that you aren't in bed and you're not with Eric. Far from it. You're in a haze as you stumble slowly to your bedroom, noting that it's just after one in the morning. Not bothering to change your clothes or brush your teeth, you crawl into bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin.

As your eyes fall closed, you can't help but run your hand over your abdomen, still shocked by the gentle but ever-increasing swell. The baby growing inside you.

"I know there's a lot going on right now," you murmur into the air, tenderly rubbing your belly, "but it's going to be okay, I promise." You don't remember when or why you started talking to your unborn child, but you can't help but feel that you're soothing not only the baby but yourself as well.

--Eric--

A few days (two days? Three? Four?) have passed since your talk with Calleigh and your parents, and you've gone through the same routine: you go to bed early but remain awake late into the night. When you finally do doze off, your rest is fitful, filled with residual images of the night so long ago and the fallout that ensued, filled with questions and fears and dreams about children.

Inevitably, you wake up far too early, wondering if you ever actually went to sleep. Then, you drag yourself to work hours before your scheduled shift is to begin. The night shift still has jurisdiction in the lab, so you hole yourself up in a vacant room and occupy your time with paperwork. Unfortunately, your series of late nights and early mornings has left you lacking in paperwork, and today you'll likely have to find another way to occupy your time.

Today, you opt for a run. There's a small park near the lab with a really nice hiking trail. When you first started at the crime lab, the trail was definitely one of your favorite haunts; however, as time went on, you found other places to run. Now, back on a familiar yet long-forgotten path, you allow yourself to slip into the comfort of long-lost familiarity and concentrate only on the steady rhythm of your shoes on the ground.

You return to the crime lab and shower, feeling refreshed and energized despite your lack of sleep. Surprisingly, Valera is the first of the dayshift in, a raised eyebrow her only acknowledgement of your presence. You watch obsessively from the reception desk as people filter in; it's amazing how many people you haven't met in all your time working at the lab. Finally, you catch sight of her, walking with Ryan. Your heart flips as you notice one hand resting absently on the little bump you're amazed you ever missed. You sigh warily.

Her eyes flicker to you and quickly back to Ryan as she continues saying something you can't hear. Something trivial. And for the first time in your life, you'd give anything to be Ryan, to have a completely uncomplicated relationship with Calleigh.

--Calleigh--

"Hey," you say tentatively. The confidence (or imposed confidence) you've always possessed is gone. For once, you find yourself completely unable to fake anything…and you don't want to any longer.

"Hey Cal," he replies quietly; you can't read him. By looking at him, you can tell he's exhausted, probably got less sleep than you did. However, beyond the exhaustion, you don't know what's going through his mind. He's managed to keep a good three feet and the corner of the reception desk between the two of you, but you step closer.

You take a deep breath and lower your voice, still unable to meet his eyes. "Look, I know you're probably still furious with me, and I don't blame you…I don't even know if," you stop abruptly as your throat clenches with unshed tears. However, you take a deep, steadying breath and start over. "I know you're still trying to wrap your head around this…I still haven't, but I just wanted to let you know that I have an appointment coming up. You don't have to come or anything. Don't feel obligated, but I want to make sure I let you know," you tell him. Whether you actually made any sense, you don't know.

It doesn't matter though, because his pager goes off. You step aside, offering a small, pathetic smile but no more words. You've run out of those.

"Thanks," he says, stepping past you. For what, you aren't entirely sure…

The day drags by slowly, and you realize you've come to feel more like a secretary than a CSI as you find yourself constantly stuck on the administrative side of things—something Ryan harshly reminds you of when he hands over more evidence that you should have processed.

"Did you need me to do anything else?" he asks, his tone clearly indicating that he has no intention of doing it.

"What's the matter?" you ask warily.

As he turns to leave, he murmurs, "nothing," over his shoulder, but when he reaches the door, he stops, quickly spinning around. "You know what, there is something wrong," he decides, absently scratching the side of his nose.

Glancing across the break room, you note that Natalia is at the table, eating her lunch. So as not to disturb her, you step forward. "What's up?"

Again, he scratches his nose, this time tilting his head to the side. "This whole 'pulling seniority' thing? It's kind of crap."

You gape, dumbfounded. "Pulling seniority?" you repeat.

"Yeah."

"Ryan, I don't…"

"I've done all of the dumpster dives, pretty much conducted any and all tests. Calleigh, I've pretty much been doing my job _and_ yours." When you don't respond immediately, he begins to leave, throwing one last comment over his shoulder. "You know what, forget I said anything."

You continue to watch as he stalks off down the hall. A quiet voice in the corner of the room says, "He's right you know…"

You spin around so quickly, jarring your neck. The sudden pain is enough to make you think twice before taking all of your problems out on Natalia. "About what?" you ask, straining to control your tone and not lash out.

Natalia gently sets down her fork, and gestures for you to take a seat. Instead, you firmly cross your arms over your chest and tell her that you'll stand.

"You've been doing desk duty a lot lately," she says, putting a finger up to silence you when you open your mouth to respond. "You're still doing more than your fair share of work, contrary to what Ryan says, but I'm confused by all the desk work. Are you in trouble with IAB or something?"

You groan inwardly. You hadn't even thought about having to deal with IAB…because you will at some point in time. "No," you say gently. They'll all figure it out sooner or later, so you may as well bite the bullet. "I'm not in trouble with IAB. I'm pregnant."

You close your eyes. Frustrated. Each time you say it, reality hits you. Hard. And you experience that same gamut of emotions you did when you first found out: fear, confusion…happiness. When you open your eyes, Natalia is looking at you like she's never seen you before.

"With a baby?" she asks, frowning.

You smile. "I hope so. I'd rather not attempt to birth a hippo."

"Who…is it Jake's?" she asks, and you can tell she's trying to do the calculations in her head.

Immediately, you shake your head. "No," you say simply, attempting to protect Eric from what you're certain will be this week's salacious lab gossip.

Natalia is quiet for a while as she tries to piece together the puzzle, so rather than stand in place, you move about the break room, getting your lunch. When you finally sit down to eat, the look on her face tells you that she has something to say, but she's immediately interrupted by Eric entering the break room.

He greets you both with a slight nod and heads directly for the fridge. You feel yourself flush, like it's suddenly become apparent to anyone breathing what exactly transpired between you and Eric (even though you're still not quite sure yourself).

Near you, Natalia's chair scrapes the floor, and you glance over to see her standing. Gently, she pats your hand, smiling. "Congratulations," she says quietly, before taking her leave.

True to your nature, you return to eating, acknowledging but not addressing the elephant in the room. Only when Eric gathers his meal and heads for the door do you find yourself able to speak. "You don't have to leave," you say, mentally kicking yourself. He looks back, frowning slightly. And that's when it really hits you: you miss Eric. Sure, you work in the same building and you've talked to him recently, but it runs so much deeper than that. Taking a deep breath, you say, "please, join me."

A/N: There you go…chapter 11 (clearly this isn't the last chapter. I guess I shouldn't make promises I can't keep). Anyway, I just wanted to share with all you grammar geeks that I had a lovely 'adverb moment' during Calleigh's interaction with Ryan. I came to the realization that I could either modify how Ryan stopped or how he spun around. It made me happy to realize that adverbs are so versatile. And…I'm done.


	12. Chapter 12

Gosh, I just realized I've never taken the time to thank all of you who've read and/or reviewed (and just plain stuck around) this craziness! Thank you :D

--Calleigh--

Releasing his hold on the door, Eric allows it to swing shut before making his way to you. He does so slowly, and you wonder if he's expecting you to change your mind and tell him to go away. Gently, you smile, trying to silently reassure him; it hurts that it's come down to this.

"Hey," he says, sliding into the chair Natalia recently vacated.

"Hey."

To be honest, you hadn't thought beyond asking him to eat with you. It seems like such a silly concept, that your once second-nature interactions have become so forced, but you have only yourself to blame for that.

"I miss you." He says it barely above a whisper, but his words resound in your ears. Slowly, you look up, locking eyes with him. The truth is that you miss him too—immensely—but do you have any right to tell him that? You're pretty sure you lost that privilege a long time ago.

"Eric…" you stop. Once again, you have nowhere to go from there. Somehow saying his name won't magically make things okay. Will your relationship ever heal? Can he trust you again? Can you trust yourself? "I'm so sorry…for everything…"

Cocking his head slightly to the side, he studies you. "Everything?" he asks finally. He drops his eyes to his plate, and you quickly realize he's essentially giving you privacy, allowing you to come to an answer, unhindered by his penetrating gaze.

It's a loaded question if you've ever heard one, so you eat in silence for a little while longer, trying to force your brain to think. However, your mind seems to continually come up blank, and you can't help but feel that you've spent all night trying to memorize the dictionary, and now you don't even remember the definition for something as basic as 'sun.'

"I'm sorry I pushed you away, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you say finally, honesty prevalent in your voice.

Eric looks up, probably as surprised as you are at the honesty of your words, at the implications they carry. Briefly, you wonder if he knows just how truthful you're being, and then you curse yourself for always being so enigmatic. You watch silently, an overpowering tension filling your body, as he cleans up his leftover food and rinses the Tupperware he brought, all the while remaining silent. Your brain rapid-fires a million possible scenarios for what could be going through his mind, but you quickly reject every one, not because the thoughts are ludicrous, but because you're certain your heart will stop if you allow the thoughts to linger too long. Instead, you stand to discard the remnants of your own meal. As you step up beside him, Eric turns to face you straight on, watching you carefully.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" he finally asks.

Frowning, you bring your gaze to meet his. He looks slightly humored, slightly puzzled by his own question, and if you didn't want so badly to cry, you could almost laugh. "No?" you say finally, unable to keep your answer from sounding too much like a question. Eric smiles slightly at this.

"Can I take you out for dinner?" In every one of his words, you hear evidence of just how carefully he's treading right now, and you hate that you've done this to him, to yourself, to your relationship. Eric reaches out, gently placing his palm along your chin Briefly, he allows his thumb to stroke your cheek, the most intimate contact you've had in quite some time; he repeats his request. His eyes are gentle, comforting, and you finally understand that it's time to move forward. You can't erase what happened (do you want to?) but you can move forward.

"I'd like that," you murmur.

Plans set, you part ways—Eric heading off to meet Ryan for a call, you going to check messages. To say that your heart didn't feel considerably lighter would be a blatant lie. For the first time in four months, you can see the possibility of a light at the end of the tunnel.

As you reach the front desk to retrieve your messages, you hear your name being called, the accent very telling. When you turn at find Clorinda Delko seated at a nearby bench, you can't help but smile; you've always loved talking to Eric's mom. You see her gaze discretely flicker to your abdomen, and worry engulfs your momentary pleasure at seeing her.

"Hi…Eric went out on a call," you say, hoping to hide your sudden uneasiness.

She stands, taking a few strides to meet you. "Sweetheart," she murmurs, taking your face in her hands. "How are you?" Her smile is gentle and comforting, but it does nothing to quell the anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach.

You know you must look ridiculous, standing before her looking dumbfounded, but a deluge of thoughts and questions takes over your mind. As it is, you've always hated disappointing anyone, but right now, the proverbial trail of victims is overwhelming; you can't fathom the thought of explaining yourself to Clorinda Delko. Then, shaking yourself mentally, you finally say, "fine…I'm fine."

Without pretense, she folds her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, gently patting your back. Slight though she is, the comfort she offers is huge; you feel like a lost child, clinging tightly to the maternal comfort you've rarely experienced, especially as a child. Surprisingly, tears spring to your eyes, causing them to sting; you press your lips together tightly, willing yourself to stay strong. With one last gentle squeeze, she pulls away, holding you at arm's length. "Horatio won't mind if I borrow you for a few minutes," she tells you matter-of-factly. Confused as to why you don't argue this point, you follow as she takes your arm and gently leads you out of the lab.

The two of you walk in silence down the steps of the crime lab and across the street to a bench perched on a hill near a quiet courtyard in the midst of a busy city. In the back of your mind, you know that she must know _something_. You have a good relationship with Eric's mother, but it was never such that the two of you would take time to get together; your meetings usually involved Eric in some way.

You're just wondering if you should say anything when Clorinda's gentle voice interrupts you internal rambling. "How are you really?" she asks earnestly.

The question throws you completely off. You weren't sure what to expect when Clorinda asked to talk to you, and you're still trying to figure out what's happening, where this is going. Briefly you wonder if you're supposed to apologize for having an illegitimate child with her son, then you question whether she really knows what's going on. You think she's far too calm to have just found out her unmarried son is now forever connected to a random woman because of a baby.

"Eric told you," you murmur dryly. Again, you wonder what she's doing here.

She affords you a comforting smile. "A few days ago, yes. Calleigh, I'm not going to lie, he's hurt that you kept this from him for so long."

You sigh. You've heard it before, but somehow, coming from Clorinda, it sends a jolt of pain straight to your heart. "I—" you begin, praying that you can come up with an adequate response. Before you can complete your thought, however, Clorinda is talking again.

"Child, I don't want an explanation from you. It's done now, so my question is, where do you go from here?"

You frown. If you knew, you wouldn't be having this conversation. Would you? "I don't know," you admit finally. You're amazed at your newfound honesty, because you have absolutely no idea about any of this.

For a few long moments, she just studies you carefully. "Pavel and I were married when I was nineteen," Clorinda begins. "I became pregnant with Sofia shortly thereafter. Honey, even in the most stable circumstances, it's no picnic. We were young, our marriage was new, and then suddenly we were adding a baby into the mix. I was terrified—how would this change things for us? Were we even ready for a baby? What would Pavel say?" She pauses, allowing her words to sink in.

They do, but you can't seem to place the context quite yet, and you feel skepticism accompanied by the knowledge that these are two very different situations. To the best of your knowledge, Clorinda's fears generally accompanied pregnancy anyway, and you'd certainly felt them. However, you and Eric had the added pressure of the uncertainty of your relationship as well as a feeling you were certain neither of you could adequately explain. How could Clorinda understand that?

"Calleigh, regardless of the surrounding circumstances, the fear, the uncertainty, the joy…it's all part of the experience. You're going to feel like you've done something wrong, and you're definitely going to feel like the timing isn't right or that you can't do this, but you can. You can because I'll be here to support you through it, and so will Eric, if you'll let us."

Completely caught off guard, you can only study her face. She's so sincere, so caring. How do you respond to that? You know how you should; you know how you'd like to. Unable to decide between the two, you remain silent. Suddenly, she takes your hands, squeezing them gently before standing. "I've already told Eric, and now I'm telling you: you have to talk to each other."

--Eric--

Driving to Calleigh's apartment, you can't help but wonder if you really know what you're doing—if you're even doing it (whatever 'it' is) right because you're flying by the seat of your pants. There's still no set protocol for whatever it is that you're doing now, and real life is significantly more complicated than movies, so all you can do is muddle through it and pray that you'll do something right. It's a strange train of thought, leaving you hopelessly confused—though confusion has become your silent companion.

When you arrive, Calleigh's waiting for you just outside the apartment. She looks amazing—her loose hair blowing slightly in the wind, the modest sundress flowing around her legs. Uncomfortably, she tugs at her strap. "Before you say anything," she drawls, holding up a hand for effect, "my wardrobe has suddenly become very limited, and it was either this or sweatpants."

"Can I tell you that you look beautiful?"

As expected, Calleigh drops her gaze, allowing a slight smile before she presses her lips together. A light blush creeps across her cheeks, but her eyes return to yours, and she nods. "I'll allow it," she says cheekily.

The drive to the restaurant is, in a word, uneventful. You occupy time and air with small talk, and Calleigh spends most of the ride gazing out the window. "Did you see your mom today?" she asks suddenly.

"No, why?" With your interest piqued, you glance over at Calleigh.

"She came by the lab."

"Looking for me?"

"No. She wanted to talk to me."

Caught off guard by her statement, you attempt to gage her reaction. By now she knows that you've talked to your parents, and Calleigh's such a private person that you wonder if she'll see it as a violation of her privacy. She doesn't seem angry—in fact, she doesn't seem to have any strong feelings about this (of course, that's probably a façade). Briefly, you wonder if you should apologize; in the end, you don't.

"When did you tell them?" she asks, her voice conversational, sincerely wondering.

"The night you and I talked," you admit. "I needed some clarity…"

She nods, understanding evident in her every feature. "I'm glad you can go to them. She was really…maternal."

"Did you?" you ask, but she looks over, clearly not understanding. You try again. "Did you tell your family?"

She nods but offers no explanation. You understand that she's doing this to indicate this is something she doesn't want to talk about, but you press anyway. "How'd they take it?"

"Eric," she warns, her tone reiterating the 'don't go there' so evident in her posture.

"Cal," you murmur quietly, "don't do this. Talk to me, please." You're already at your destination, so you almost expect her to dismiss your entreaties and get out of the car. She doesn't, however. Instead, she sighs and turns her body to face you.

"They reacted like I should have expected them to," she says. "My mom spent the first five minutes lecturing me on how I should have been more careful and it isn't too late to 'take care of things' rather than ruin my life, and the next five minutes telling me that it's bad enough that I put myself in danger every day, she doesn't want to fear for her grandchild's life as well."

It doesn't make much sense, but from what you've heard about Calleigh's family, it fits the MO. "How did your dad react?" you try, hoping this won't be a sore note as well. You've met Duke, and in his eyes, Calleigh can do no wrong.

"Like a dad," she says finally. As if to signify the end of the conversation, she pushes her door open and steps out of the car.

Following her lead, you imagine how you'd react to finding out some guy had gotten your daughter pregnant; you're certain you'd want to shoot him. You meet Calleigh on the other side of the car, smiling gently. "He wants to take my head off," you state, realizing you'd probably do the same.

At this, Calleigh smiles. "Well, not the one on your shoulders," she says coyly.

Wincing, you hold open the door to the restaurant, allowing Calleigh to walk through before following. "So I'm no longer in his good graces."

"Depends. Once the shock wore off, he seemed kind of excited…put in his vote for a granddaughter."

You smile at the thought of a little Calleigh running around. "I'd be okay with that."

"Until she's old enough to date, right?"

You frown at this thought—you were young once, and you've seen what teenage guys are capable of. You open your mouth to speak, but Calleigh beats you to it.

"One hurdle at a time, okay?" she says gently, squeezing your hand.

It isn't until you're nearly finished with dinner that you gather up the courage to address the weight hanging over you for so long. Forcing the last bite of steak down your dry throat, you take a sip of water before looking up at Calleigh.

Of all the conversations you've ever had in your life, this one seems to be the most difficult. Perhaps you're weighing too much on one conversation, perhaps you've finally come to grasp the gravity…regardless, you dive in, "what happens now, Cal?"

Her eyes immediately drop to her plate as she takes a bite of her pasta. She's silent for so long (much longer than it takes to chew and swallow) that you're about to repeat your question when she says simply, "we talk." The look on her face is akin to one of a warrior steeling himself for battle, but she presses on. "I wish we were here under different circumstances," she quietly admits.

This profession can be taken in so many ways, but you know Calleigh well enough to understand what she's saying, and it gives you hope. You smile, capturing her hand in yours. "I know."

"I—I don't want things to happen because of the baby. Eric, I would rather continue this odd purgatory with you than completely lose you in my life…well, except for the custody swaps and all that stuff…I mean, I don't know if it's better for a kid to grow up with fighting parents who are married and in an unhealthy relationship or parents who shuffle their kids back and forth between them," she says, blushing. "I'm rambling, and I don't know if this makes any sense at all, but Eric, I can't lose you."

You're taken completely aback by the raw honesty in her voice, the fear dripping from every word. The ache in your chest grows slightly at the thought of having to choose between Calleigh and your child…it just doesn't seem right. "What makes you think we can't do this? Cal, I'm not saying we should run off and get married or anything like that…just give us a chance."

Soon, dinner at the restaurant gave way to a walk, the setting sun to your left, Calleigh to your right as you walk along, eventually arriving at a playground. The time is nearly eight o'clock, but many children occupy the play structure, some parents watching from the side, others running around with their children.

"I could see you doing that," Calleigh says shyly, pointing to a father and son across the playground. The little boy, giggling the entire time, drops into one of the heavy plastic tunnels suspended horizontally by two platforms. Legs moving frantically, he scrambles through the tunnel, tumbling out on the opposite platform. Regaining his balance, he turns and pokes his head back into the tunnel.

His father, however, hid himself in another tube connected to the platform, lying in wait. The confused little boy walks past the entrance to the tunnel he had previously come through and is just about to pass the next tunnel on his way to a bridge when the father propels himself forward, out of the tube. In a swift motion, the father scoops his son into his arms, letting a loud raspberry on the boy's stomach. Giggling uncontrollably, the boy pushes at his dad's face.

You're drawn away from the scene by a gentle tugging at your hand, and you turn to find yourself standing near a bench, Calleigh watching you expectantly. "You plan to sit down, or are you gonna stand there gawking?" she asks, her accent thickening playfully. Without waiting for an answer, she sits down, setting her hands in her lap.

Now, rather than watching the families playing, you watch Calleigh as her eyes scan the playground. The first scan is the standard 'check the scene' scan that's become so second nature for you, and her head moves slowly as her eyes travel over the playground and surrounding trees, eliminating any potential threat. Her second scan is just as slow but not nearly as vigilant. Instead, her eyes roam lazily about the playground, occasionally falling on a child or family playing.

Finally, her eyes fall on you. Until that point, you were still standing beside the bench, but the look on her eyes drops you to the bench. "What are you thinking?" you ask, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

Returning the squeeze, she smiles. "I've never really taken the time to study families…outside of my own. I'm glad to see…" but she stops, frowning. "Never mind."

"Cal?"

You're taken completely aback when she sniffles, attempting to discretely brush tears from her eyes. Being privy to Calleigh's raw emotions requires a lot of trust and usually a major inciting incident—gun to the head, nearly being run down—so this is slightly baffling. You're further surprised as she takes a shuddering breath and squeezes her eyes shut. "Damn hormones…sorry," she mutters emitting a strange cross between a cough and a laugh.

It makes sense, in hindsight. When your sister was pregnant, she could have been used as a textbook example: the crazy hormones, morning sickness, all of it. With your sister, you did your best to make yourself scarce until after the baby was born, and had it not been for your mother's 'persuasion,' you probably would have waited until you were certain your sister was back to normal before visiting her. Suddenly, you realize you don't want to hide until the end. You want to be there through every part of Calleigh's pregnancy; you want to go out late at night to satisfy any cravings she might have, be there through any mood swings, massage swollen feet, even tie her shoes if, like your sister, it gets to the point where she can't reach that far. A smile plays lightly on your lips at these thoughts.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asks, frowning indignantly. "You try going from sad to happy to angry in the time it takes to fire two rounds, all the while trying to keep yourself from jumping the…" she trails off, her eyes widening.

Again you smile, this time sheepishly. She didn't finish her thought—probably never would—but you know enough to make an educated guess on how her sentence would have finished. "I can help you with the last one," you say, quirking an eyebrow. It's entirely possible that you're treading in dangerous water, but you suddenly feel reckless.

Calleigh rolls her eyes but smiles despite herself. "One hurdle at a time," she says, echoing her earlier statement.

Final note:

So…in chapter ten I was giving out points to whomever guessed the 'based on real life' part of the story. A couple of you guessed the condom in the pocket, and while I'm sure that's happened somewhere to someone, that actually wasn't it. My inspiration came from a time when I was younger and my neighbor told me that adults had to have sex to make babies (mind you, this is the same girl who told me that a tampon applicator was actually a pregnancy test…she was very much like the seagull in _The Little Mermaid_).

Now, I understood that babies didn't come from a stork or anything like that, but for the life of me I couldn't wrap my head around the whole sex thing. As a small child, I was convinced that her parents would NEVER do something like THAT (and certainly not multiple times). I don't really know why I thought her parents wouldn't do that (as opposed to my own) but I did.


End file.
